


Sonus ex Veneficia, the Sound of Witchcraft

by Refictionista



Category: Ancient Roman Religion & Lore, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Ancient Rome, F/M, Master/Slave, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Refictionista/pseuds/Refictionista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A multi-chapter fic inspired by my one-shot, Donum Scientiae, a gift for learning. The plot is based on The Sound of Music. Historical AU dramione set in ancient Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book Cover

**Author's Note:**

> ### Summary, _The Sound of Music_
> 
> One of the most popular movie musicals of all time, _The Sound of Music_ , is based on the true story of the Trapp Family Singers. Set just before World War II in Salzburg, Austria, Maria, a woman studying to become a nun, is sent from her convent to be the governess to seven children of a widowed naval commander, Captain von Trapp. The children, initially hostile and mischievous, come to like her after she teaches them to sing. Soon, Maria finds herself falling in love with the captain. Captain von Trapp was to be married to a wealthy and sophisticated baroness but marries Maria instead. Meanwhile, the Nazis take power in Austria as part of the Anschluss, and call Captain von Trapp back to active duty in the service of the Fuhrer. However, during a singing performance at a music festival in a guarded theater, the whole family flees and walks over the mountains to Switzerland.


	2. Prologue - The Importance of Ancient Rome

The wizarding world in Ancient Rome matters greatly to our world today. It was (and still is) my favorite historical period in wizarding history, though I never paid attention to it in Professor Binns’s class.

Well, not quite true. I do remember the following:

> _Muggle Rome was a very powerful and very large empire that lasted quite a long time. In its prime it could go toe to toe with any other empire out there. This was largely due to the achievements of magic, which was practiced openly during these times._

The beginning of his lecture was likely the only interesting part of it. Not even one moment after I wrote those three short sentences, he named the birthdates and lineage of important wizards and witches during the era. His monotone voice and all those numbers put the students in our class to sleep, including myself.

Admittedly, I’m a Slytherin; we bore easily... this isn’t much of an excuse if I’m forced to be honest about it.

Anyway, Rome controlled the vast majority of Europe, and so understandably a vast portion of European wizarding culture and customs date back to Roman times. One could even say the modern magic of Europe was developed during the Roman Era.

Or did you think the Latin phrases used in our spells were mere coincidence?

Oh, you did?

How utterly... plebeian. Merlin’s beard, this is why we need better teachers.

Let’s return to the point on topic, now that, apparently, I need to start at the beginning. First, Ancient Rome is important. Second, it is important because it provides the foundation for our culture. When we understand their society, we understand ourselves.

Third, understanding history will teach us to recognize certain warning signs. Had we understood and recognized the factors leading to the Liberators' Civil War, then perhaps He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would not have shepherded his own movement that lead directly to the First and Second Wizarding Wars.

Finally captured your attention, didn’t I?

There are several highly entertaining stories from this period that students, or simply young people in particular, would love to learn about (were Professor Binns not in charge). When our children take this knowledge with them into adulthood, then they are less likely to join the ranks of Death Eaters.

This doesn’t happen when you are sleeping—deeper than a dragon high on pixie dust—since your instructor is being unequivocally boring.

I digress. Merlin’s beard, where was I? Oh, yes...

Which is why I have decided to share with you the account of a wizard and one particular witch during the aforementioned period. I hope I will convey their tale in a way both entertaining and educational. If, by any unfortunate means, you still harbor the currently unfashionable opinions on blood purity, then perhaps you will learn something even more valuable than the typical reader.

It all comes down to what we learn and, therefore, who teaches us. We cannot succeed as a culture if we are taught history is boring. History is full of epic adventures with wizarding duels fought, scandals to be gossiped about, and wizarding, magical creature (and even Muggle) rights to be protected. It can be comic and tragic, and it exhibits both the best and the worst of our nature. Our history is all about witches and wizards doing extraordinary things.

In my humble opinion, Professor Cuthbert Binns needs to be sacked or go to... well, wherever it is ghosts go when they retire.

_~ Elladora Greengrass ~_  
_Hogwarts Parent/Teacher Association President_


	3. The Slave and the Singing Sea

* * *

#### Vouliagmeni Beach, near the deme[1] of Aixōnídes Halaí

* * *

For as long as she could remember, Hermione of Gkrantes[2] loved the sea. The tides and crashing waves were like music to her ears. Perhaps so much so that sometimes when swimming she could even claim to hear singing under the crystal blue waters.

Her favorite chore was to go to Vouliagmeni Beach to collect seashells for her mistress. She would sing as she carefully chose only the best shells for Lady Flavia Metelli[3] to use in her ‘rustic’ decorating.

Being loved by her mistress since her birth had worked well for Hermione. Her mother, Helena of Gkrantes, was merely a cook in the household. Had Hermione not been such an extraordinarily beautiful infant, she would not have risen to the highly honored station of ancilla, or handmaid. At the tender age of fourteen, she was already Flavia’s right hand, ranking her as the second highest position amongst the slaves in the household.

The lady loved Hermione as her own daughter and would have freed the young girl from slavery had her husband allowed it. Instead, Hermione’s mistress would frequently ask the young girl to go to the white sand beaches to collect shells, as she knew the task was one Hermione looked forward to doing.

It was during one such trip Hermione, her basket of shells already full, was twirling barefoot in the wet sand and singing. The mist from the sea caused her already bushy hair to frizz even more than usual, but she didn’t mind. She sang:

♬ Ὅσον ζῇς φαίνου ♬  
While you live, shine  
♬ μηδὲν ὅλως σὺ λυποῦ ♬  
have no grief at all  
♬ πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐστὶ τὸ ζῆν ♬  
life exists only for a short while  
♬ τὸ τέλος ὁ χρόνος ἀπαιτεῖ. ♬  
and time demands an end.[4]

She stopped singing and dancing when she heard the distant sound of her mother calling her name. Turning, she saw Helena running across the beach with her stola’s fabric flapping across her legs. When Helena reached Hermione, the older woman held out a hand to steady herself against her daughter’s shoulder.

“You must hurry,” her mother gasped, turning Hermione around by the shoulders towards the way she had come. “Quickly, grab your sandals and give me your basket. Our mistress calls for you.”

* * *

#### Lady Flavia’s personal cubiculum,[5] the Falco villa

* * *

Hermione ran up the marble steps of the villa, vainly trying to shake the sand off her sandals with each step. Not watching where she was going as she reached the vestibulum, she collided with a large immovable wall.

“What’s this?” a rough voice asked.

It seemed the wall could speak. Hermione gulped and saw a giant of a man; his forearms were even the size of her waist. He had a large round face made comical by a beard with wild tangled hair that was thick and braided.[6]

Hermione felt intimidated, but then became encouraged by the twinkle in the huge man’s eyes. “My apologies, Rubeus of Hagia Triada.”[7]

“I haven’t introduced meself. How yeh know me name?” he asked curiously.

Hermione pointed to a brown leather satchel hanging in front of his tunic across his chest with his name branded on the side.

“Yeh can read?” The surprise in his voice was evident.

“Yes, my mistress taught me,” said Hermione with a hint of pride.

“A, ah, rather unusual skill for a slave girl,” Rubeus said. He raised one bushy eyebrow, making it look like a caterpillar arching its back.

“I guess I’m an unusual slave,” she quipped back at him.

“Well,” he chuckled, “I certainly hope so. Go on now. Yer mistress and mine are waiting for yeh inside.” Rubeus gave her a bow and did his best to give her room to pass by him in the narrow entrance hall.

Hermione headed through the atrium to one of the cubicula set aside for her mistress’s own particular use. Noticing the other woman the giant had mentioned in there as well, she slowed and walked in sedately, giving a polite curtsey and bowing her head as her mistress had once taught her.

“You called, Mistress.”

“Hermione,” said an elderly and pleasantly plump woman with a smile. “Please, come join us.”

Reclining on the klinē next to her mistress was a tall, black-haired woman in an emerald green chiton. Compared to the genial Lady Flavia, the woman had a very stern face.[8]

“Minerva, this is the slave girl you have inquired about, my ancilla and the daughter of our cook. She is called Hermione.”

“Come here, child,” said Minerva. Hermione stepped forward obediently. “Open your mouth, let me see your teeth.” Afraid of this request, Hermione looked to Flavia, who was smiling encouragingly.

Leaning forward timidly and opening her mouth wide like a horse being inspected, she stood perfectly still and tried not to show any fear.

“Her face glows with the warmth of exercise, and her teeth are good. She appears to be in satisfactory health.”

“And so pretty, wouldn’t you agree?” said Flavia, her smile now nearly beaming with pride.

“She will mature into a beautiful woman, yes. I would even say she carries Circe’s blood in her veins; however, it is mainly her intelligence and gravitas[9] which most interest me. May I question her privately?”

“Oh, of course you may, Minerva!” Flavia rose from her klinē and gently grasped Hermione by the shoulders. “My sweet girl, this is such a wonderful opportunity for you. I’m as proud as if you were my own daughter.” She gave Hermione a motherly kiss on the forehead and left the room.

Hermione turned and stared at the prim looking woman now sitting straight as an arrow. She watched as the older woman leaned over gracefully and pulled out an oddly carved stick, swishing it through the air with an oddly complicated little movement.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” Minerva whispered, aiming the stick at the room’s arched entrance. There was a burst of air shimmering in that direction and then something sounding like bubbles popping.

“Now, we can begin.” She pocketed the stick. “You have questions, I presume.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin, my lady,” said Hermione.

Minerva smiled, which softened her stern expression beyond measure. “It takes a truly wise person to recognize their lack of knowledge.” She stood and paced the room as if she were a philosopher giving a lecture. “My name is Minerva Athena Megalonisi. You may call me Madam Minerva. I teach at a school for particularly gifted students. If I were to tell you I think you might qualify, what would you say?”

“I could say it sounds interesting and would want to know why you think I qualify, but on second thought I will say I serve at the whim of my master and mistress.”

The older woman stopped and smirked. “Clever girl.”

She once more took out the stick from within the folds of her chiton and tapped it against the side of her chin. “Tell me, clever girl, did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain when you were angry or scared?”

“No,” said Hermione quickly.

Minerva’s stern look reappeared. “I would appreciate honesty, Hermione.”

“Madam Minerva, I am being honest!” claimed Hermione. “But, well..."

“Yes?”

“I sometimes know things, things I don’t know how I know, yet I do, and then mother says it is my imagination, but sometimes I hear singing—singing from the sea. And—”

“Stop. When do you hear this singing?”

Hermione fiddled with her hands and took a deep breath, as if preparing to hear the older woman call her a foolish little girl. “When I’m swimming. Eerie voices, singing under the water. No one else seems to hear them.”

“Ah, what you hear is most likely the merfolk. No one else would hear them, except people like us.”

“People like us?”

“Mages, Hermione. You’re a mage.”

“I’m a _what_?” Hermione blinked several times. “A mage?” she asked.

“Yes. A witch, to be more precise.” She looked at Hermione, who was still blinking. “An opportunity has arisen for you, one we can act on in a few years, but you would need to be trained first.”

“Trained as a mage?”

“Yes, at the school I mentioned, Hogyrotoli School of Thaumaturge and Sorcery. It is on an island not too far from here.”

“I don’t know what the Lady Flavia said to you, but her husband has never agreed to free me before. He believes a woman’s only place is with a husband or a master—we only cause problems otherwise. What would or even could change the master’s mind this time?”

“This wand and I have our ways,” said Minerva, tapping the stick across her palm.

Hermione stared, wide eyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] In Ancient Greece, a **_deme_** or **_demos_** (Greek: δῆμος) was a suburb of Athens or a subdivision of Attica, the region of Greece surrounding Athens.
> 
> [2] In this fic, slaves are differentiated by free persons by stating their hometowns instead of surnames. This convention is **not** historically accurate.
> 
> [3] A Roman woman kept her own family name after she married, though she might be identified in relation to her husband: the name Flavia Metelli, “Flavia [wife] of Metellus,” preserves the birth name Flavia and adds her husband's name to specify which Flavia. I’ve omitted using Flavia’s family name to prevent confusion.
> 
> [4] This song is the **_[Seikilos epitaph](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seikilos_epitaph)_** , the oldest surviving complete musical composition, including musical notation, from anywhere in the world.
> 
> [5] **_Cubicula_** were small rooms used for a number of different purposes; on the upper story and in the interior of the house they often functioned as bedrooms, while the small rooms off the atrium (on the lower story) may have been used for private meetings, libraries, etc.
> 
> [6] Paraphrased from **_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_** , Chapter 4
> 
> [7] **_Hagia Triada_** was a town in Ancient Greece on the island of Crete. Its modern name is Ayias Triadha.
> 
> [8] Paraphrased from **_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_** , Chapter 7
> 
> [9] **_Gravitas_** was one of the Roman virtues. It may be translated variously as weight, seriousness and dignity, also importance, and connotes a certain substance or depth of personality.


	4. So Long, Farewell

* * *

**Lady Flavia’s personal cubiculum, the Falco villa**

* * *

Lord Metellus Falco was an older man with a round stomach and almost unbelievably straight posture. Every step he took was in slow motion, as if the idea of hurrying along was beneath his status.

He probably thought it was.

As master of the household, he had a final say on, well, everything. He was unaccustomed to any opposition, as his word was law as far as he was concerned. This was why Metellus walked into his wife’s personal cubiculum with his usual measured steps. He stopped and sneered at Madame Minerva, seated regally before him.

“My wife has just shared with me your plans for her favored slave. I am here to put an end to this foolishness.”

“You call educating a gifted child in the wonders of magic foolishness?” asked Minerva in a low voice full of challenge. Hermione looked warily back and forth between the two, wishing herself to go unnoticed by the master.

“Magic!” he spat. “They say Caesar uses _magic_ wielders to help him strengthen his army and consolidate his power. Without his most _unnatural_ support, he would easily prove unfit to rule. I see no use in magic or magicians, and even less reason to educate a _female_ slave. She is my property and belongs to my household. That is my word, and it is final.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and removed the stick—no, her wand—from her robe and pointed it at Metellus.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” she cried.

The furious expression on Metellus’s face turned to one of shock. He snapped up to his full height, arms clasped to his sides. His entire body became stiff as a board, tilted to the side, swayed, and then fell on the tiled floor with a muted thud. His fall caused a platter of tempting delicacies to clatter off a nearby table and onto the ground, the now bruised fruit rolling away under the furniture.

“Oh,” cried Hermione, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“He’ll be fine,” said Madame Minerva, dismissing the body of Hermione’s master lying prone on the floor. “Shame about the olives. Go now, you must say goodbye to your mother.” She gave Hermione a little push in the direction of the archway. “I’ll be along presently.”

Hesitantly, Hermione left. Head high, Minerva turned back around.

“As for _you_ ,” declared Minerva in a disapproving tone to Metellus, as if she were addressing a loathsome insect, “ _Obliviate_!”

* * *

**Culina,**[10] **the Falco villa**

* * *

“Mother?” Hermione poked her head into the villa’s kitchen. “Mother, are you here?”

Helena of Gkrantes stood in front of the open faced hearth with a smudge of flour on her cheek bisected by the furrow of a single watery tear.

“Oh. You’ve heard already.”

“Yes, my darling. Our mistress came and told me. Ignore my tears; I am so happy for you. I know not how our lady convinced the master, but I am so glad—so very glad—you are leaving this place.” She opened her arms, and Hermione crossed the room quickly to be enveloped by her mother’s loving embrace. “Deep down, I’ve always felt you were special and deserved something better than the life I could give you here.”

“I’ll miss you.” Hermione hide her face in the safety of her mother’s bushy curls.

“To think,” Helena said, squeezing her daughter, “my beautiful daughter has been given the gift of magic by the gods. All those amazing things I’ve seen weren’t mere coincidences or flights of fancy, they were signs of your destiny.”

“Mother, I still believe, even as slaves, we create our own destiny.”

Helena stood back and lifted Hermione’s chin. “No, you are destined to be the brightest student this school has ever seen.” She gave her child a loving kiss on the forehead. “Go now, pack quickly before the master changes his mind.”

Hermione smiled, wiped her tears, and left the culina quickly. Helena sank onto the stone barrier of the hearth behind her.

“Fear not,” said Minerva. The stern faced sorceress walked into the kitchen with her head held high. “I am Minerva Athena Megalonisi, Headmistress of Hogyrotoli School of Thaumaturge and Sorcery. Your daughter will be safe under my care.”

Rounding her shoulders, Helena turned to Minerva. “My lady, I am not afraid of her life at your school. I fear you will open her mind to all the wonders of the world withheld from a slave. I know the law, you cannot grant her freedom. Despite whatever words or magic you used to convince the master to release her unto your care, he will never agree to release her. No such spell would be legal if you were to do so.”

“You’re right. There is a curse, a tool of the Dark Arts that could be used to change Lord Metellus’s mind. It is one of the most powerful and sinister spells known to mages, and obviously it is forbidden. While I shrouded his memories of your daughter to give Hermione leave to come to my school, I cannot and will not force him to grant her freedom. The use of such a curse would be unforgivable in the society of mages.”

“Then perhaps she could stay at your school, live there instead of returning—”

“No,” Minerva interrupted, “your child will be granted freedom. She will live as a true mage.”

“How?”

“I was guided here by the goddess Minerva, my namesake. She values intelligence and saw your daughter’s potential long ago.” Minerva paused. “We have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [10] The kitchen in a Roman house was called the **_Culina_**. It was dark and gloomy and smoke filled the room because there was no chimney. This is where slaves prepared food for their masters and guests in Roman times.


	5. Conversing via Flooious

* * *

**Inner Temple Chambers, Hogyrotoli School of Thaumaturge and Sorcery  
Five years later**

* * *

“Tell me, Minerva, what exactly do you wish to accomplish?” Severus Maximus Snappa’s image wavered in the fire's shimmering green glow.

The old sorceress straightened her shoulders. “I should think my intention would be obvious.”

“She is of low-birth and, even worse, a slave.” There was a distinct curl of his lip at the last part.

“She is the brightest witch of our age. I have never met her equal, not once.”

“More talented than yourself?” he scoffed.

Shadows from the green flames of the Flooious gave her expression a truly intimidating appearance. “By far, Severus.”

The face in the fire remained unconvinced; his lips curled again in a disapproving sneer.

The headmistress tapped her wand in her hand, pacing back and forth once more. “I have been planning this for years, ever since the death of the Lady Astoria. I’ve known his son would need a tutor for some time, and now the boy is of age to be educated... well, she’s perfect for the task.”

“I don’t question her suitability to the task. It’s your additional ambitions for her that might reach too far. However, far be it for me to go against your wishes. I'll pass along your recommendation.”

“Thank you, Severus. It has been a pleasure, as always.”

The face of Rome's most intimidating mystical adviser rolled his eyes and faded in a puff of green ash as the flames died down to burning gleeds. The most illustrious sorceress in the empire smirked as the light faded.

Minerva called for a house-elf to bring Hermione to her.

"I’m here, Madam Minerva," said a lilting voice coming from a respectful distance outside Minerva’s private chambers.

The old headmistress turned to the doorway behind her. "Come here, my child. Now, have a seat.”

“Have I done something wrong again, Madam?” Hermione said quickly. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. The library was beckoning and before—”

“Dear girl, I haven’t summoned you for apologies.”

“Please let me ask for forgiveness,” insisted Hermione.

Minerva sighed. “If you’ll feel better.”

“Yes, you see, I had the most marvelous idea of using mermaid song to send secret messages inside golden vessels, and so to research the idea I let myself into the Restricted Section without permission. Which brings me to another transgression, Madam Minerva.”

Hermione closed her eyes and cringed slightly before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“I sent a six foot long scroll to the high priests at Poseidon's temple letting them know the depictions of mermaids on their frescoes and stone reliefs were completely inaccurate and overly sexualized. I may have called... well, I did call them dirty old men. Worse, I can’t seem to stop saying these things. Everything I think and feel, really.”

She stole a peek from between her lashes at her mentor.

The headmistress chuckled. “Some call that ‘honesty’.”

“Oh, but it’s terrible, Madam Minerva!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Hermione... when you first came to this school and longed to be with us, that didn't mean you were prepared for the way we live here, did it?”

“No, Madam, but I try. And I am learning. I really am.”

“What is the most important lesson you have learned here?”

“To find out what is the will of the Gods and use their magical gifts to the best of my ability.”

“Hermione... it seems to be the will of the Gods you leave us.”

“Leave?”

“Only for a while.”

“No, Madam! Please don't send me away! This is where I belong. It’s my home, I’ve learned so much here. This is my life. I want to stay and teach.”

“Are you truly ready for teaching here? To have this institution control your ownership?”

“Yes, I am.”

“If you go out into the world for a time, knowing what we expect of you, then you will find out if you can expect it of yourself.”

“I know what you expect, Madam, and I can do it! I promise I can!”

“There is a family in need of a praeceptor[11] before the end of Sextilis.”[12]

“By September?”

“Yes, and since they are in Rome you would need to leave immediately.”

“Rome?!”

“Have you ever wanted to visit the Eternal City and capital of our empire?”

“Well, yes, but Rome is so far from here.”

“Distance is merely a construct of those without magic, Hermione. I will tell Severus Maximus Snappa that the senator can expect you by mid to late summer.”

Hermione paled. “Senator?” she asked.

“A cunning politician and a powerful mage. A retired officer of the Imperial Army. His wife died, and he is alone with his son. I understand he has had a difficult time finding a worthy tutor.”

“Why difficult, Madam Minerva?” asked Hermione, her nose crinkling in suspicion.

“The Gods will show you in their own good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [11] translation: **_tutor_**
> 
> [12] **_Sextilis_** ("sixth") was the Latin name for what was originally the sixth month in the Roman calendar. After the calendar reform produced a twelve-month year, Sextilis became the eighth month, but retained its name until it was renamed Augustus (August) in honor of the first Roman emperor, Augustus. Sextilis followed Quinctilis, which was renamed Julius (July) after Julius Caesar, and preceded September (from septem, "seven"), which was originally the seventh month.


	6. The Praeceptor and the Politician

* * *

**Malafides Palatial Domus, Palatine Hill, Rome**

* * *

Senator Draconis Aurelius Malafides nearly choked and spat out his wine, for surely this was some kind of joke. “ _You_ are the praeceptor recommended by Severus Maximus Snappa?”

“Is there a problem, Senator Malafides?” the Greek slave before him asked mildly, seemingly unsurprised at the arrogant Roman's astonishment.

“Honestly, yes. My son needs a tutor to teach him speech, law, and gravitas... amongst other things.” The senator ran a hand through his unusual mane of hair. It was said Jupiter himself had cast a lightning bolt on one of his long forgotten ancestors, forever cursing the Malafides family with shockingly pale blond hair. It was one of many things making him stand out from the typical Roman citizen. “A female both young and beautiful is usually employed to instruct a boy in an entirely... less _academic_ branch of learning.” He ran an appraising eye up and down her form, the curves of her body hardly hidden by the tunic of a typical slave she wore.

This young woman before him had none of the typical subservience of other slaves; she did not back down. Nor did she seem pleased by his visual assessment, he wondered in amazement if she was annoyed by it.

_Interesting_.

“Would it help me to be better prepared for the challenge of your son’s education if I was old and hideous? I assure you beyond these _faults_ you see, my recommendation has true merit.” She paused. “I was told your son had remarkable ingenium, and you wanted no less than the best in these regards.” She gave him a knowing look.

Draconis tried to make no indication he understood her meaning, but he sat straighter and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yes, young Scorpius has an inborn ‘gift’ for learning. The point remains I fail to see how you would be qualified in such regard.”

The young woman glanced behind her at the Praetorian Guard standing next to the columns leading to the atrium. Then she looked back at him and said nothing.

He leaned forward on his solium, tapping a finger on his chin in thought.[13] “Come here,” he finally ordered, apparently having decided something. She walked forward, her woven sandals making quiet shuffling sounds echoing loudly over the marble floors. “Sit on my lap.” His tone was benign but absolute.

She hesitated. When his gray eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw, she nodded and sat primly on his lap. He shoved a hand roughly under the high slit of her tunic, causing her to gasp. Then she froze. However, he made no move to get underneath her tunica, his hand moving back and forth leisurely between the two layers of fabric. He was not actually pressing down; he hovered an inch above the inner garment, never touching her... though to anyone else it would seem he was doing just that, and so she then slowly relaxed somewhat.

He glared at the bodyguards stationed nearby. “Leave us!” he snapped. They bowed and left the chambers immediately.

Once they were alone in the tablinum, she shifted as if to move off him.[14]

“No,” he hissed quietly. “You will remain where you are. Always remember while you are here in this villa that the walls have ears and the doorways have eyes.” She nodded in understanding, though visibly not pleased he had yet to remove his hand from underneath her outer garment. “What is your name?” he whispered.

“Hermione of Gkrantes,” she answered.

“Tell me, Hermione. Why does my old mentor think you suitable?”

“I come here directly from the temple school of Hogyrotoli, where I studied under Minerva Athena Megalonisi. As you may know, she works closely with Snappa. I believe she told him I was her favorite and most promising student when he asked her for a recommendation.” Her tone of voice was not haughty, but she held her chin up regally, betraying her pride in those words.

He blinked. He stared at her incredulously and whispered, “Minerva... she is the most powerful thaumaturge of the empire.”

The smile she gave him at his statement made it seem he had given her praise in her teacher's stead. “Indeed she is, Senator. We are in agreement.”

Still, her explanation did not make sense to Draconis. Before him was a young, beautiful and apparently talented sorceress, if Severus and Minerva were to be believed. Doubt creased his forehead and narrowed his eyes. “How is it you are a slave?” he asked, unable to hide his suspicion.

She tensed on his lap, but Hermione had already expected this question. “Such things happen when one is not born into a family of mages,” she responded quietly.

Wide-eyed, he leaned back. He almost didn’t respond, but when he finally did it was as if the air was being wheezed out from his lungs. “You’re a Muggelia.”[15]

“No,” she replied stiffly. “I am not a Muggelia. I have as much magical power and talent as you and yours! I was merely born into a mundanus[16] family.”

The hand previously hovering indifferently between the two layers of her clothing gripped her forcefully under her breast, squeezing hard and making her wince in fear. He leaned forward and nuzzled his face into her ear. “I have many enemies. Do not make me remind you of how this villa is always under observation. You will keep your voice low, and you will never again refer to any power I wield other than political. In the future should you make any such claim about my son, I _will_ kill you.”

She lowered her head. “Forgive me, Senator. It will not happen again.”

“Indeed. We are in agreement,” he said, echoing her previous words. He smiled at her and she smiled back nervously. The senator pushed the simple and inexpensive palla from her head. A single curly strand of hair had escaped from her braid. He tucked it behind her ear, causing her to shiver.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” he said gently, “but it is important you remember my warning. Were my wife still alive, she could easily tutor our son without suspicion. If I am to trust you, then you must not allow any hint to give away the abilities of our kind. Scorpius has the potential to be a great mage, which is why I need an exceptionally talented praeceptor to tutor him. If your abilities are as Severus claims, then you will do nicely as a member of my household staff and teach my son well... perhaps even better than my beloved Astoria ever could have dreamed.”

“I would be honored, Senator.”

“As you should be.”

Hermione thought it best not to reply.

“Now,” he leaned back, “you are the twelfth in a long line of praeceptors, who have come to tutor my son. I trust you will be an improvement on the last one. He stayed only two hours.”

“What's wrong with the boy?” The senator paused, frowning. He abruptly gestured for her to get off his lap, and then he stood himself, towering over her. “There's nothing wrong with my son—only the tutors.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“They were completely unable to maintain discipline over a magical child. Without it, this villa cannot be properly run while maintaining our secret. You will remember this above all else, Hermione of Gkrantes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Every morning you will drill my son in his studies, privately and away from any prying mundanus eyes. Each afternoon, he will march about the grounds and gardens, breathing deeply. Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions—”

“Excuse me, my lord, when does he play?”

Draconis looked at the Greek slave quizzically for a second or two before he decided to ignore the question. He continued, “You will now go and introduce yourself to Scorpius. I have other more pressing matters requiring my attention.”

Hermione was left to stand uncertainly in the atrium alone, wondering which way to go in this villa the size of a palace. Her first day in Rome had been an odd one so far, and it wasn’t over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [13] The Latin **_solium_** is considered to be equivalent to the Greek term **_thronos_** and thus is often translated as throne. These were like modern chairs, with backs and armrests.
> 
> [14] The **_tablinum_** in a Roman house was between the atrium and the peristyle. It was an office of sorts for the **_dominus_** , or owner of the home, where he would receive his clients. The dominus was able to command the house visually from this vantage point as the head of the social authority of the paterfamilias.
> 
> [15] **_Muggelia_** was suggested by user Honoria Granger on FF.net in a review of the original one-shot as the feminine for **_Muggelus_** (though I tweaked her proposed spelling slightly).
> 
> [16] **_Mundanus_** is Latin for mundane... the best I could come up with for non-magical (as _not-magical_ would be translated to **_non-magica_** , which would look like a misspelling... that simply wouldn't do).


	7. Only During Earthquakes

* * *

**Malafides Palatial Domus, Palatine Hill, Rome**

* * *

Scorpius Hyperion Malafides's gray eyes were bright, and his every muscle needed to move, to gesture emphatically, and was used to run ragged circles around the weary household slaves. With Malafides blonde hair and fair skin, Scorpius had the face of a cherub, but underneath he possessed the temperament of a faun. He was mischief personified.

If he had one question about the world around him, then there were seven more queued in his mind. This had led to a line of unqualified tutors who had failed to keep up with him.

Which is why, when he first met Hermione of Gkrantes, the _twelfth_ praeceptor hired to tutor him, young Scorpius simply laughed.

"Let's try again," said Hermione, amused as well but committed to maintaining her bearing in front of the boy.

"Good greetings, Scorpius Hyperion Malefides." She knelt down to be on the same level as the boy. "I am Hermione of Gkrantes, your new tutor. You may call me 'Miss Hermione' or ma'am."

"You're a slave."

"Yes."

"And... you're a _girl_."

"Well spotted." She tried hard not to roll her eyes at the observation.

"You're pretty."

 _What was it with these Malafides men and pulchritude? Was all her worth to be judged by physical beauty?_ The thought depressed Hermione until the little boy before her smiled like a cherub, all innocence and naivety, and gave her a hug.

Yet, she could have sworn, just for a moment, she had caught a glimpse of the little boy smirking at her.

Eager to get to know her new pupil, she was about to suggest a walk in the gardens when they were interrupted by the arrival of a sickly-looking older man with greasy black hair and a hooked nose.[17] His unusually dark colored toga billowed behind him as he approached.

"Good greetings, Hermione of Gkrantes, I am Severus Maximus Snappa, Chief Magical Advisor to Caesar himself and close friend of the Malafides family."

Hermione curtsied. "Good greetings. I am honored to meet you, Lord Snappa. My mentor, Madam Minerva, has spoken highly of you, and I thank you for recommending me to the senator based on her word. I look forward to—" She stopped. Hermione felt something, something _slithering_ , in the folds of her tunica. "What? Ah! Ah! Aah! Oh! Ohh—"

She reached into her inner garments, pulled out a small snake, screamed, and flung it across the room.

"You're lucky," said Severus calmly. "With the last tutor, he conjured a Gorgon." He saw the shock register on Hermione's face before she could hide it, and he smiled. "Well, unfortunately it didn't turn the dunderheaded mage into stone, but still I was told it was quite the horrifying visage. Scorpius is a truly gifted child, magically."

"Indeed," said Hermione, glaring at the mischievous boy with the face of an angel as he waved and skipped away.

* * *

After being served dinner in a quiet corner of the kitchen, Hermione was shown her room by one of the household maids. She was surprised to find she had a private cubicula on the second floor of the villa, and that she wouldn't be sharing a bed with another slave. Privacy was a luxury most slaves would never know.

The view from her window was a grand one. She could see all the way to the streets further down the hill, where flickering lights from candles were twinkling from windows of the buildings below.

Hermione had never been to a large city, and Rome was the largest city of them all. The sheer number of lights on the ground almost looked as numerous as the stars in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, and she was glad it would be the last one on her first day in this new place.

As she was admiring the picturesque view, the ground shook, and she lost her balance and grabbed the windowsill for support. The small table near her jumped around the tiled floor like it had a mind of its own, and flakes of the plastered walls fell off in tiny chunks, showering the room in a cloud of dust. The tremors ended as quickly as they had started, but the vibrations had given her a headache.

She was wringing a cloth in cool water to rub on her forehead when Scorpius came running into her room, forcing himself to walk calmly after he entered. His mischievous look was gone. He looked like a scared little boy trying desperately to appear brave.

"Were you scared by the earthquake?" she asked, quickly patting her head with the cool cloth before setting it aside.

"No," he said with his chin held high. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't."

"Very thoughtful of you, Scorpius."

The ground shook again, though less violently this time. Scorpius ran across the room and hugged Hermione, burying his face in her hips.

"Why does it keep happening?"

"Well, that was just an aftershock of the earthquake. Everything will settle shortly."

"I wish it wouldn't do that. It scares me enough the first time."

"Well, now, when anything bothers me and makes me feel scared, I just try to learn how and why these things are happening, and then I feel better."

"What kinds of things bother you?"

"Uh... let me see... things that make me feel scared I can explain. Well, when sun sets below the horizon and it becomes dark for one."

"Okay, why does that happen?"

Hermione picked Scorpius up and settled him on her lap.

"Nyx, the goddess of the night, spreads her cloak of dark mist across the sky as she rides across the heavens in her winged chariot. The shadow of her cape ends when it is time for the sun to rise, so there is never a need to fear the night. It always ends. Now, Nyx is the goddess's Greek name. What is her Roman name?"

"Nox."

Then whispering, Hermione asked, "And as a mage, what do you know about the charm _Nox_?"

"That's the Wand-Extinguishing Charm. The spell causes the light at the end of your wand to blow out," Scorpius whispered back.

"Correct. What's the counter-charm?"

" _Lumos_ ," replied Scorpius.

"You see, there is never a need to fear the dark now you know the reason it happens, how it ends, and how as a mage you can make it end. Now, do you feel better?"

"Yes. What about the earthquake?"

"There are several theories we use to explain earthquakes. For instance, the people of my homeland in Greece regard Poseidon..." said Hermione, pausing.

"God of the sea," piped Scorpius, "Our name for him is Neptune."

"Very good." Hermione smiled. "Yes, the Greeks believe the god of the sea is the cause of the earthquakes; he does that by thrusting his great trident down on the bottom of the ocean. He is so powerful that this shakes the earth all the way to dry land. However, Romans believe it is Vulcanus—" She gave the eagerly listening boy another pointed look.

"God of lava and smoke," said Scorpius. "The one the Greeks call Hephaestus." He giggled. "Hephaestus, I think that's a funny name!"

Hermione laughed too, and tickled young Scorpius. He squealed, and they chased each other around the room shouting Hephaestus's name. Hermione caught Scorpius and twirled him around her. He giggled softly once more and hugged her. She held him close and began a Greek lullaby her mother once sang for her. She sang:

♬ Νάνι νάνι το παιδί μου ♬  
Sleep sleep my child  
♬ κοιμάται σαν τ' αρνάκια ♬  
sleep like a little lamb  
♬ κοιμάται σαν τ' αρνάκια ♬  
sleep like a little lamb  
♬ ξυπνά σαν τα κατσικάκια ♬  
and wake up like a little goat[18]

Scorpius's eyes were slowly blinking and his breathing calmed as he snuggled into her arms. She kissed his forehead and gave a sweet little yawn in return.

"Well, I had better see you off to your own bed," whispered Hermione, "I'm sure your father wouldn't like to see you up and about at this hour—"

"Hermione of Gkrantes, did I not tell you bedtime is to be strictly observed in this villa?"

The senator was standing in the doorway, looking most displeased. Scorpius, wide awake, scrambled off Hermione's lap. As she jumped up, there was a blur of blonde hair as Scorpius dashed around his father.

"I'm waiting," said the senator, obviously still expecting an answer from Hermione.

"Well, your son was upset by the earthquake, so I thought if I..." She paused, seeing the look on his face darken even further. "You did, my lord."

"And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such absurdly simple instructions?"

Hermione stood tall. "Only during earthquakes, my lord."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [17] Paraphrased from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ , Chapter 7
> 
> [18] This is a (drastically shortened) version of a traditional Greek lullaby, one originating from the mountains in Western Macedonia. Livestock breeding is very common there, which explains animal references. Another interesting element here is the use of diminutives, e.g. little sheep, little goat, etc. Diminutives are used in the Greek language to indicate not only smallness but also deep affection.


	8. Gaius Julius Caesar

* * *

**Malafides Palatial Domus, Palatine Hill, Rome**

* * *

Things were easier between Scorpius and Hermione after the first night. One morning, three months after becoming his tutor, Hermione woke to see snow falling gently out of her window. She rose and saw Rome covered by a pristine white blanket.

“Come, Scorpius,” she said, “let’s go outside this morning instead of staying indoors. The first snowfall is always the best, so we should enjoy it.”

The idea of skiving off studying to play outside appealed to the young boy. Together, they hurried outside wearing their winter furs. Hermione taught Scorpius how to bespell a snowball to always hit its target, and he had a merry time hitting the roof in just the right place so the snow resting on top would come tumbling down.

“Miss Hermione?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Can we do this every day?”

“It won’t snow every day. Besides, don’t you think you’d soon get tired of it, Scorpius?”

“I suppose so... every other day?”

Hermione laughed, took his hand, and together they walked back to Scorpius’s private lesson room.

Once they were alone, Scorpius hesitated before sitting at his desk and getting out his slate and chalks. “Miss Hermione?”

“Yes, Scorpius?”

“Why must we keep quiet about magic?”

Hermione sat on a klinē and pulled Scorpius into her lap. He rested his head on her shoulder and looked at her with quiet anticipation.

“The first reason you must always remember is your father asks this of you. Sometimes we don’t understand why our parents tell us to do things, but your father is a good man and you must trust he knows best.”

“Father is the best man in the world... and you’re the best lady.”

Beaming at the compliment, Hermione gave Scorpius another kiss. She didn’t notice Draconis in the shadows behind her, leaving after hearing what Scorpius had said with a look of contemplation on his face. Instead, she continued to quietly explain the importance of keeping magic hidden to the young boy.

“Another reason your father asks this of us is because magic is power, and those without magic can be scared of a power unknown to them.”

“My magic scares me sometimes.”

“Because you can’t control it yet, which is why you must be careful when you do magic. Even then, you must only practice your magic under the supervision of either myself or your father.”

“Did your parents supervise you?”

“No, my mother was a Muggelia. I didn’t understand my magic until I was much older than you, when I went to the school I told you all about.”

“Did you like going to school?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“What was the school like?”

“I was on a ship when I first saw the school. It burst from the side of the limestone cliffs on the distant shore like a huge gnarled knob on the side of a tree. I had never seen anything like it in my life. The highest tower was at least a stadion high. The school itself was bigger than the Parthenon, that’s the temple dedicated to the goddess Athena.”

“I’ve been to the Parthenon,” said Scorpius, grinning brightly with a toothy smile. “Father took me.”

“Sounds like it was a fun trip. What did you think?”

“I didn’t like the statue of Athena.”

Puzzled, Hermione tilted her head. “Whyever not?”

“She looked really mean and really tough. I wouldn’t want to cross her.”

Hermione gave Scorpius a kiss on the forehead. “You probably shouldn’t oppose any of the gods or goddesses, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” agreed Scorpius, “but especially her.”

* * *

“Hermione of Gkrantes,” said Draconis, startling Hermione as she walked through the villa later in the evening.

“Yes, my lord?” she replied with a curtsey, making sure to keep her eyes lowered. Her behavior was at odds with her inner nature, but Hermione was determined to prove to Madam Minerva she was more than capable of handling the task of a praeceptor. Success here would certainly mean a position teaching at the school.

The senator seemed at the cusp of saying something, but then changed his mind as Severus Maximus Snappa approached. Draconis continued looking at her, his face an expressionless mask yet with eyes she couldn’t decipher.

“You—and Scorpius have been on my mind lately. That is to say, well, it is time I spoke with you regarding Scorpius’s progress. How go the lessons?”

Hermione was certain she heard a snort from Severus.

“Your son is a wonderful student, full of gravitas.” She smiled, feeling both pride and pleasure in Scorpius’s gift for learning. “You were right when you said he had the potential to be a great mage, and with good training this will be a certainty.”

“Of course I was right.” Draconis smirked.

Hermione successfully kept from rolling her eyes at her master’s arrogance.

“Draconis says the boy has become attached to you,” observed Severus. Hermione visibly bristled at Severus’s disapproving tone. “I find children are best taught in a strict environment; spoiling them with indulgent motherly pampering should be avoided at all costs.”

Before Draconis could put in his opinion, Hermione responded angrily, “He was bred to be a mage, my lord, not a mollycoddle. I have done nothing to dissuade him of that. He will be a _great_ mage one day, with my help.”

Severus laughed, startling Hermione.

“Minerva mentioned you were a little spitfire,” said Severus. He turned to Draconis. “Perhaps you should have her present when you present young Scorpius to Caesar. He’ll find her wildly entertaining.”

“Scorpius will be presented to Caesar, my lord?”

Draconis turned his confused face from Severus to Hermione. “Yes,” he said. “Tonight, Caesar comes to the villa for the evening meal and to secretly meet with mages loyal to him. Scorpius will be presented during the feast.” He turned back to Severus. “What do you mean ‘wildly entertaining?’”

Severus only chuckled and walked to the triclinium.

“Are there any spells you will want Scorpius to perform?” Hermione asked.

“No,” snapped Draconis. “Scorpius will not give any indication of his magic. There will be servants and bodyguards present during the feast.”

“Surely they know mages are coming to this house tonight to meet.”

“They know that and nothing else. What they suspect may be different, but were they to voice any rumors... well, I would have them killed. It is as simple as that.” He stood straight. “Go fetch Scorpius after he finishes his meal and bring him to the triclinium.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Oh... and Hermione,” Draconis said as she stopped to turn around and face him.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I am... glad... that Scorpius has you as a tutor.” The words seemed forced, but sincere. He looked confused and uncomfortable for the briefest moment, but the stoicism returned almost immediately. He gave her a curt nod, dismissing her and the conversation.

* * *

“What do I do, Hermione?” asked Scorpius, trying to keep his lip from quivering.

Hermione straightened Scorpius’s robes yet again. She smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

“You will approach when they call for you. Then, you will bow, like this.” Hermione crossed one arm over her chest and stiffly leaned forward. “Remain this way until you are given leave to rise. Afterwards, Caesar may ask you some questions. Answer intelligently, in full sentences using the proper declensions. You will do fine.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am,” insisted Hermione, “because I’ve tutored you for a long time now and know how gifted you are. You are highly intelligent, much like your father, who will be there and be proud of you no matter what. I will even be watching from the alcove. Everyone there will be supportive of you.”

“And I’m not to do any magic?”

“No.”

“What if Caesar asks me to?”

“He won’t,” said Draconis, standing in the doorway of Scorpius’s playroom. He raised his arm and beckoned Scorpius to come forward. “Come, Son,” he said, “it is time for me to present you to our Caesar.”

Scorpius walked forward and Draconis gestured for him to continue before him. Draconis turned to Hermione. “I heard what you said to him. He is lucky to have you as his tutor.”

“Despite what Snappa says?”

“Despite what Snappa says,” he said, not unkindly. Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile on Draconis’s austere face. “You may watch from the alcove, since you have already told Scorpius you will be doing so.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink.

“If I have assumed too much—”

“You assumed correctly. It will calm my son’s nerves to have you there.”

Together, the three walked through the villa to the triclinium, where a great number of distinguished men stood about in richly colored robes.

In the center next to Severus stood a tall man with a fair complexion and keen dark brown eyes. His balding head was somewhat hidden by the thin strands of hair combed forward from the back of his head and the golden wreath of laurels surrounding them.[20]

From this, Hermione knew the man to be Gaius Julius Caesar, the famed dictator of the Roman Republic. She remembered he was a cavalry officer and could see evidence of his occupation in the strong muscles of his legs and arms. He might have been much older, but he was a striking man. She gaped for the briefest of seconds before giving a reassuring squeeze to Scorpius’s shoulder and disappearing behind an ornate column.

“Hail, Caesar,” said Draconis, bowing. Scorpius did the same, and rose when his father did. “Welcome to my home. May I take this opportunity to present my son, Scorpius Hyperion Malafides.”

Draconis stepped to the side and motioned for Scorpius to step forward, which the little boy did with great dignity. He clasped his fist over his chest as Hermione had shown him and bowed again.

Immediately after doing so, there came a small tremor through the villa, rattling the busts along the walls and startling several servants. Several of the men around Caesar held their arms out to steady themselves, but young Scorpius remained perfectly still throughout the brief earthquake.

“Ho!” declared Caesar after the tremors subsided, who had remained steady through the earthquake as well. “I do believe this boy is already a fine man. Such bravery. Rise, Scorpius Malafides.”

Hermione watched as Scorpius stood straight, his tiny fist still clasped to his chest. She was overflowing with pride.

Caesar smiled and turned to Draconis. “Tell me, how does such a young man come to possess such fortitude?”

“I’m not afraid of what I understand, sir,” said Scorpius, thinking the question to have been directed at him.

“Oh,” said Caesar, now looking at Scorpius with interest. “You understand earthquakes then? Explain them to me.”

Scorpius carefully explained earthquakes, as Hermione had explained them to him only earlier in the day.

“You should be thankful to your father for hiring your tutor,” said Caesar. “He has taught you well.”

“Father didn’t hire her, Miss Hermione is on loan to us.”

Hermione cringed and tried to back away slowly.

“A female tutor?” Caesar’s eyebrows rose. “And on loan you say?”

Scorpius pointed at Hermione, and her heart almost stopped.

“Come forward, praeceptor,” commanded Caesar. Hermione walked slowly to Scorpius’s side.

Caesar appraised her. “What a lovely slave girl, and intelligent it seems. This is a combination I like to see in a woman.” He chuckled.

“We are lucky to have Hermione,” said Draconis. “She came on Snappa’s recommendation.” Dismissively, Draconis motioned for Hermione to take Scorpius to bed.

However, Caesar’s eyes had widened and he smiled and reached for Hermione as she attempted to leave with Scorpius..

“Oh, young lady, in that case I must have a word with you.” Caesar dragged Hermione by the hand. “Draconis, my friend, you're not going to let this _talented_ girl get away. She has to join the meeting.”

Hermione realized, with a small sense of horror, Caesar had somehow concluded, correctly, she was a mage.

“No,” protested Hermione, “really, I—”

“Nugae! Gerrae! Fabulae![21] Sh... Shh... Shhh,” Caesar admonished. “Draconis, my friend, please tell your lovely and intelligent slave your Caesar insists.”

“You heard him, Hermione,” said Draconis, somewhat stiffly to Hermione’s surprise. “Caesar insists.”

“Yes, I insist.” Caesar tucked Hermione’s hand under his arm and patted it. “And for dinner, too. You will be seated next to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [20] This description is based on what Roman historian Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, commonly known as Suetonius, wrote of Caesar in _De Vita Caesarum_ translated as _The Life of the Caesars_ , although the common English title is _The Lives of the Twelve Caesars_ or simply _The Twelve Caesars_. Suetonius was born 24 years after Caesar died.
> 
> [21] According to the website for [Ludi Latini](http://www.ou.edu/ludilatini/insultshandoutFall2003.htm) (Latin Games) at the University of Oklahoma, this phrase translates to: Nonsense! Poppycock! Fiddlesticks!


	9. The Only Option

Even after months in the Malafides palatial domus, Hermione was unused to the extravagance of Roman dinners, having never actually been to one herself. She normally took her meals with the other slaves in the culina or with Scorpius in his private lesson room.

Her wide eyes stared in amazement at the feast before her. Delicacies such as wild boar, mussels, oysters, pheasant, and deer were piled on the table in the center of the couches, where the meeting’s attendees reclined while eating. They barely had to stretch their arms to reach any number of savory delights.

The jewel of the evening meal was the ice water. While any mage could have simply conjured such a thing easily with magic, Draconis’s mundanus servants had traveled to the mountains earlier in the day for the frozen luxury.

Hermione had never felt so stuffed, and she was glad when the meal finally concluded. Caesar had spent his time asking her about magic, and Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable answering such questions with non-magical folk still hovering nearby. She stalled with whispered responses to the best of her ability, knowing that Draconis wouldn’t approve of such conversation.

After the feast, the servants and bodyguards finally left the room. Severus stood and waved his wand, putting a magical barrier in place to keep prying mundanus ears away. Caesar nodded at Severus in appreciation and then stood.

“I thank you all for coming here today. Some of you know why I called this meeting, so forgive me if you are hearing this for a second time.” Caesar took a large sip from his wine goblet. “As all of you are aware, my only male issue is Ptolemy XV Philopator Philometor Caesar, or,” he chuckled, “Little Caesar, as I like to call him.”

Several heads nodded. Caesarion, _Little Caesar_ , was currently Caesar’s guest in Rome, along with his mother Cleopatra VII. He was the only child of Cleopatra and the only biological son of Julius Caesar, after whom he was named.[22]

“I wish to officially acknowledge Little Caesar as my heir to the Roman Republic. My son will inherit therefore it and then Egypt as well. In order to do this and for him to be a Roman citizen, I must formally marry his mother.”

Draconis turned to Severus, who was now frowning. It was a lesser known fact that Calpurnia Snappa, Caesar’s third and current wife, was also Severus’s sister. Though her brother had little respect for divination, Calpurnia was a respected seer amongst the mages of Rome.

Caesar had mock-married Cleopatra to solidify Rome’s alliance to Egypt after vanquishing his adversary’s army. After conquering Egypt, Calpurnia claimed that Caesar was heading down a path that would lead to their destruction. That she accepted Caesar’s mock marriage was understandable, but perhaps knowing an official marriage would mean divorce made her ‘see’ these things.

“So, my friends, I need to know by what magic we can grant Cleopatra the Roman citizenship needed for my marriage to her. Roman law cannot be changed in this regard. Either the will of the gods or the trickery of magic must prevail in this endeavor.”

Murmurs filled the triclinium. Hermione noticed several mages talking to each other in whispered tones. Severus was still silently frowning, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Draconis, however, was staring at her intently. It was all Hermione could do to break eye contact with him.

“Caesar,” said an older mage in sotto voce, “you have promised us much in return for our favors during the Gallic Campaign and then again during your civil war.” The old man conjured a small glowing ball of light with wandless and wordless magic in an attempt to impress the dictator. “Let not our efforts fall into forgetfulness ere we grant you another boon.” The light dissipated and fell from the old man’s hand.

Several gasps filled the room.

“I have made it possible,” Caesar stated, “for you and your kind to live _openly_ amongst the Roman people. And barring Malefides, our most generous host this evening, all of you have chosen to do so. I can only assume our good friend Draconis has declined this benefit to allow the people to think magic has nothing to do with his place in the Senate, and not, I hope, that he wants nothing to do with my generosity.”

The room was silent.

“My only option,” said Caesar, “is to supersede the mock ceremony and truly marry the Egyptian queen.” He stopped to stroke Hermione’s cheek. “Cleopatra is such a beautiful woman, many of you can understand the allure of such charms... and since my little Egyptian pet has already proven fertile... Point being, I will have my heir, or die trying.”

The drapes around the room fluttered from an unexpected breeze and Hermione shivered. Caesar smiled at her and turned back to the attendees.

“Again, I want to thank you all. Without you, I would have never cast the die.[23] Without you, I would never have become dictator perpetuo. We now are at the culmination of the efforts of my army and your magic. Strength and honor!”

“Strength and honor,” called out most of the dinner attendees as they held up their wine goblets. Hermione noticed that Severus and Draconis withheld their goblets from the toast.

* * *

After the meeting, Caesar and the attendees left in small groups. Severus was the last to leave, giving Draconis a long, hard look that seemed to convey a silent conversation. With him gone, Hermione and her master were alone, with the exception of Draconis’s personal Praetorian Guard standing at attention near them.

Draconis turned to Hermione with fire dancing in his silver eyes. “I don’t like the idea of Caesar having designs on you,” he said bluntly, stepping forward and backing a surprised Hermione against a wall.

“It wasn’t like that, Senator! He was interested in learning more"—she lowered her voice to the barest whisper—“about magic from a feminine perspective, that’s all. He asked no other questions during the feast when everyone was talking, and he did so in whispers. That is why he leaned in so close and—”

“Call me Draconis, or better yet”—he leaned over and lifted her curly hair to whisper in her ear"—call me Draco.”

She was about to ask why when she felt him pull her towards his body by her waist. Her heart beat rapidly, and Hermione felt warmth travel from her center.

“I meant what I said the first day we met; you are beautiful. Very beautiful.” His thumb drew lazy circles on her side, but he did nothing more. Hermione waited, an unforeseen impatience growing in her belly. When he still didn't move, she leaned forward and kissed him. Softly. Just once.

The strength of their individual magics coming into contact through their lips created fireworks in her mind. Barely able to breathe around her hammering heart, Hermione drew back enough for warm air to slip between them, a resigned sigh brushing against her mouth.

Then he was pulling her toward him and bundling her up in his arms. Hermione gasped as Draco tugged at the bindings of her braid with his other hand. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and he buried his fingers into her mess of curls and kissed her back.

To see a haughty Roman senator kiss a lowborn Greek slave fully and deeply, his tongue probing her mouth hungrily, wasn’t an unknown sight. After eye contact acknowledging them, the guards left the room. Draco was left to plunder Hermione’s lips in privacy.

Hermione knew the kiss only lasted seconds, but it felt longer. Like somehow time had stood still, her blundering mind later registering several minutes having passed by the time he broke contact. She jerked back. He opened his eyes, a square of moonlight falling in through the compluvium above, illuminating her face as it became pained.

“Have I hurt you?” he asked.

“We need to stop,” she responded after a moment. “I will _not_ become your mistress.” He was about to respond when she continued, “Nor am I an itch to be scratched. Even if this is not your intention, and were we to become involved, then I fear it would confuse Scorpius.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “I would never force myself upon you, of course.”

She laughed. “I am powerful enough to hex any master who even dared to attempt to force himself upon me. However, I like the taste of your magic; it is unlike anything I've known.”

Draco squinted at her like he was trying to figure out a strategy for a battle. She leaned back, one hand on his chest and the other fiddling with the folds of the toga thrown over his shoulder. “You want me, I want you. Why do you choose to complicate things?”

Pausing, she stared back and focused on his pale eyelashes, her pulse pounding in her fingertips against the purple border of the fabric. “I said—”

“Yes, you declared you are not an itch to be scratched. By the dog Hermione, it’s only sex.”[24] He noticed her slight cringe at the word. “Wait... Are you a virgin?”

Composure regained, she tilted her chin upwards. “Yes. I would prefer to stay this way until I am married, and as I am a slave... you know full well we will never, nor even could, be married.”

He raised one brow. She knew she was unlike other female slaves, having never used her body to gain advancement and other benefits. Hermione held his gaze, unwavering. She would not be intimidated into seduction.

_Not that it wouldn't be too terrible if he tried._

Hermione was startled at the thought. She needed to leave. Now.

* * *

Draco smiled with a sense of satisfaction at the Greek slave girl who walked away like a queen with her head held high. The power of her magic he had felt with their kiss still lingered over their combined auras, though he could have suspected as much knowing she was the prized pupil of the famed Minerva Athena Megalonisi.

His grin grew predatory. He considered different logical arguments to dispel her from the foreign and prudish notions of purity. She could be more than just a tutor to his son. If only he could convince her to become his concubine, then he could have more sons, perhaps the most powerful offspring ever produced for the Malafides lineage.

Yes, that was exactly what he would do.

This was the only option, for despite his growing political power he was not Caesar. Because what, other than the interference of the gods, could make it possible for him to marry her?

Any trickery from magic like Caesar had suggested, and his family’s secret would be known.

Draco would protect his family, at any cost.

That included Hermione and their children once she agreed to be his concubine. She _had_ to see the logic in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [22] Later on, Cleopatra went on to have three more children with Marc Antony after Caesar died.
> 
> [23] This refers to Caesar crossing the Rubicon River, an act which sparked the Great Roman Civil War. Caesar supposedly said, "alea iacta est" (usually translated as _the die is cast_ ), after the crossing.
> 
> [24] In researching Ancient Roman/Greek minced oaths, I found Socrates favored the “Rhadamanthine” oath “by the dog”, with **the dog** often interpreted as referring to the bright “Dog Star”, i.e., Sirius (which I thought appropriate for Harry Potter fanfiction).


	10. The Festival of Diana on the Aventine - Part One

* * *

**Malafides Palatial Domus, Palatine Hill, Rome[25]  
Two weeks later**

* * *

“Her- _mi_ -o- _ne_ ,” Scorpius wailed, “come on!”

The servants still in the household chuckled as the young boy continued to lament the tardiness of his tutor.

 _Loudly_.

“Scorpius,” said Hermione, turning the corner and arriving in the atrium to see her charge carrying on in a bearing not befitting his rank. She brandished a finger with a somewhat amused yet still stern look on her face. “I am never late, nor am I early. I arrive precisely when I mean to.”[26]

“Is this another lesson?” he asked skeptically after a huff of exasperation.

“Only if one day you wish to gain a modicum of understanding the complexities of womankind in general.”

Young Scorpius wrinkled his nose and his little mouth twisted as if having chewed on something distasteful.

Hermione laughed. “However,” she said, holding out her hand, “it is a lesson that can wait a good ten years. Let’s go to the festival.”

She saw Draconis, no _Draco_ , in the vestibulum as they left. She was glad for the day’s excursion, because she was finding it harder to ignore her growing attraction to the boy’s father in the face of his overwhelming logic.

He had made it clear he wanted her to be mother to Scorpius in everything but name only.

The little boy was swinging her hand happily and chattering a mile a minute as they made their way to the festival. She loved her charge. Nothing would make her happier than to be his mother.

How could she return to a life of teaching when she loved this boy so much?

* * *

**the Hyperborean Forest, beyond the snowy Riphean Mountains**

* * *

High on a celestial plane, the able-armed Diana raised her bow, taking careful aim at the enchanted doe before her. Quietly and with the strength of an accomplished hunter, she pulled back on the nock point and—

“ _Hello_ , sister dear.”

In disbelief, she watched aghast as the silver arrow missed its target entirely, frightening the doe. The creature she had tracked relentlessly for over three weeks swiftly ran away, a trail of glowing mist left evanescing in its wake.

“By _the dog_ , Apollo!” Diana exclaimed as she tossed her bow and quiver to the ground in frustration, swerving around to strike out at her twin. The golden haired god caught his sister’s clenched fist easily in one hand and he looked down to give her a lazy grin.

“Glad to see you, too,” he said and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek.

The moon goddess’s eyes were tinged red with fury, and she made no response. Instead, she bent down and retrieved her weapons from the forest floor and inspected them for any damage caused by her tantrum. She huffed when she saw her prized possessions had survived unscratched... lucky indeed, for her brother would live for another day.

“Come now, I want to show you something,” said Apollo, leading a still sulking Diana over to the side of a nearby meadow. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a pool with a swirling scene of the mortals in Rome celebrating in the streets.

“The Festival of Diana on the Aventine.”

“I recognize my own festival, brother,” she said, annoyed and looking back in the direction the doe ran.

“Well, you haven’t picked a maiden to be crowned at your own festival,” Apollo scolded. “You must realize without your divine guidance, the priests will simply pick the concubine of a wealthy Roman.”

“True, but the priests are men. Like all men, they are driven by their want of gold and the need in their loins, not by a pure maiden who follows me. What else do you expect?” She rolled her eyes and gave her brother a rather knowing look.

“For you to take an interest in your own worshippers,” he said rather forcefully.

“Perhaps if those who worshipped me saw value in what I hold dear, then I would be more sympathetic. Is it no wonder I prefer to hunt than watch them desecrate my temple with their chosen whore?” She watched Apollo trying to stealthily steal a quick glimpse into the pool of visions. “Why the sudden interest in my festival?” Diana asked, raising an eyebrow.

Apollo gave her an innocent look, but she wasn’t fooled. Diana pushed her brother aside, and moved to the pool. She waved her hand, mortal after mortal quickly passing by in shimmering succession. She called the visions to a halt when she found what had caught Apollo’s interest.

“Who is the mortal? One of your conquests?” she asked, pointing to a curly haired slave girl holding the hand of a young boy as they watched the procession pass through the streets.

“She’s a witch, actually.”

“Apollo, how could you? Is the child yours? You know better to get involved with a mortal who possesses magic!” Diana exclaimed.

“No,” said Apollo, standing tall and holding his shoulders back. “The boy isn’t mine, and I don’t, nor have I ever, had an interest in the witch. Verily, I believe she is still a maiden and worthy of your festival crown.”

“And the festival crown’s reward.”

Apollo nodded.

Diana reached into the pool and touched the tip of her finger to the forehead of the girl, careful of any Occlumency powers the witch might possess, lest she be alerted to the goddess’s intrusion. Diana sensed a singular intelligence, the depth of which she would cherish in any member of her retinue.

“You are correct; she is a maiden.” Diana narrowed her eyes. “But she fancies herself in love with the boy’s father.” She pulled away from the vision of the mortal realm and dried her hand. “Would she be crowned, she would then earn freedom from slavery as her reward; however, as a mere freedwoman she would have little hope to marry a man of his status, which is what she wants and cannot have.”

“Yet I will have them together. The witch is stubborn and wishes to only ever lie with a man who is her husband.”

“At which point she would no longer be a virgin and could never be an attendant of mine. What is your interest in this? Why has the father not taken her as a concubine or otherwise lured her to his bed?”

“My interest is in the boy.”

Diana gave him a sly grin. “Brother dear, I had no idea you were drawn in such a direction these days. My, how times have changed you.”

The sun god’s cheeks bloomed noticeably red on his tanned skin. It was rare for Apollo to be embarrassed, but his twin sister occasionally still succeeded in accomplishing the impossible.

“Not funny, little sister.”

“Yes, it was.” She poked him with her bow tip. “And don’t forget I’m older than you.”

“Perhaps, but you’re still short.”

“And you're still avoiding telling me a reason as to why I should intervene in my priests’ decision. What is your interest in the child?”

For a moment, Apollo grimaced like he wasn't going to say anything, or, even worse, try and lie to her. After some thought he sighed, a clear sign, which Diana had recognized since childhood; her brother was about to tell her the truth.

“I have been told he has the potential to be a great healer, one I believe would surpass Galen.”[27] Apollo looked fondly at the child in the mortal realm. “One of his possible fates is to become the father of magical medicine.”

“And how does this bring your attention to the girl?”

“I want her to win the crown, earn her freedom, and marry the boy’s father.” He sighed when Diana gave him a skeptical look. “The only way the fate I want for the boy comes to pass is if he has a compassionate and loving mother figure. This witch has those qualities in great abundance and already has the love of the child.”

“The priests do not grant Roman citizenship as a festival reward, just freedom from bondage. As a senator, the boy’s father could only marry a social equal. Even were she no longer a slave, she would still rank beneath him in status.”

He smirked. “Not if they were convinced the goddess Diana had marked her especially.”

“Ah,” said Diana, “now your request of me makes sense.”

“Come now, little sister,” he said, playfully nudging her and smiling wide. “What I want is for the betterment of Wizarding kind. I ask this selflessly.”

“The additional praise and worship at your temples from the Wizarding folk must have completely slipped your mind,” she quipped.

“Such a trifle is merely a small bonus, I assure you.”

“A nice bonus.”

“Indeed.” Batting his eyelashes at her boyishly, he began pleading. “Please, Diana. Please grant me this _tiny_ boon. It will cost only a moment of your time and make me eternally happy.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles.

She snatched her hand away but then tugged on one of his golden curls. “Oh, all right. Fine. I’ll do as you ask, but only because you _begged_.”

Apollo smiled.[28]

* * *

**Temple of Diana on the Aventine**

* * *

At the head of Diana’s cult in Rome was a chief priest, a eunuch who bore the name of Secundus. Under him were other castrated priests known as Essenes; it was their duty to offer the sacrifices to the goddess in behalf of the city. The priestesses were more numerous and in the early times were all virgins. While the current temple services still consisted of the Essenes’s occasional sacrifices, they were now mainly of ceremonial prostitution, a practice which angered the virgin goddess of the hunt.

Not that the current chief priest knew this.

Secundus stood in the cella of Diana’s temple, reviewing the notes his personal slave had made regarding the festival’s award ceremony. The Essenes scuttled around him and about the inner temple chamber, preparing the sacrifices and shouting orders to the temple slaves. He slapped a younger slave with one of his soft pale hands when the unfortunate boy had hurriedly walked too close to the statue of Diana carrying a platter of entrails.

“Watch where you go, you worthless drudge!” Secundus shouted. “Do not befoul the goddess’s feet with viscera, or you shall clean the statue with your tongue after I whip you for your insolence.”

The slave scurried backwards fearfully, careful not to let a drop of blood spill from the platter.

“Strong words for such an effeminate man,” said a voice.

Furious, Secundus turned. But the slave boy was far off already, and no other soul was near enough to have whispered such insulting words to him.

“I am _here_ , foolish mortal.”

He spun around again, still there was no one else in the cella.

“Your goddess speaks to you, chief priest.”

Slowly, the pudgy balding priest lifted his chin upwards and frowned. He could have sworn the statue of the goddess Diana was staring at him reproachfully. He shook his head.

“The stress of this festival is chipping away at my sanity,” Secundus murmured and walked away.

Something made him pause and turn around to look again.

When he saw the lips of the statue curl into a sneer, he nearly fainted. Secundus threw himself on the marble tile, prostrating himself while shaking with fear.

“I’ve grown tired of repeating myself to get your attention,” said the statue. “I would send you directly to the Fields of Punishment in the underworld for this transgression, had I not need of you alive.”

“I am your humble servant to command, Diana, daughter of Jupiter and Latona.”

“You are a fool, but I have a use for you, nonetheless. Tell me, fool, what whores have been chosen to receive my festival’s reward?”

“There are no whores—”

“Must I strike you down for your insolence?!”

“No, my goddess, no, please, I beg of you to forgive me,” Secundus sniveled, fearing he would soil his garments.

“Then I await your answer, priest.”

“There are twelve supplicants, the most worthy of all slaves, who have been nominated by some of Rome’s most distinguished citizens. After consideration, all have been chosen to receive the festival’s blessing.”

“There will only be one reward given this year.”

“Of course, my goddess. We can easily accommodate what you wish. Why, one of the candidates was chosen by Marcus Junius Brutus himself, a close friend of Gaius Julius Caesar. I’m told she is beautiful and—”

“She is the whore of Brutus and will not suit.”

“But my goddess, Brutus has commanded—that is to say—he wishes to award her with freedom in order to make her his official concubine.”

“The reward of this festival has too long been given for such reason. I will no longer allow my name to be tarnished with the needs of lustful men. You will stop this blasphemous tradition and give the reward to one who deserves her freedom... and more.”

Secundus nodded. “I am yours to command.”

The cold white lips on the marble statue of Diana smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [25] The festival of **_Nemoralia_** (aka Festival of Torches) was celebrated by the ancient Romans in honor of the goddess Diana. This was later adopted by Catholics as **The Feast of the Assumption**. I had the idea that the Roman festival would choose one 'worthy' maiden to ascend from slave to citizen, as Mary ascended to Heaven. This festival tradition is my own creation and is **not** historically accurate.
> 
> [26] Quote adapted from J. R. R. Tolkien.
> 
> [27] **Galen** (129 AD – ca. 200 or 216 AD) of Pergamon lived decades after this story takes place. He was a prominent ancient Greek physician, whose theories dominated Western medical science for well over a millennium. Galen moved to Rome in 162, where he gained a reputation as an experienced physician, later becoming the physician of Emperor Marcus Aurelius.
> 
> [28] The idea of using a scene of gods meddling in the mortal realm came from another historical Dramione fanfic named **[Troy](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4508030/1/Troy)** by **[Twilight to Midnight](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1367082/Twilight-to-Midnight)**. It's a dark fic (warning: non-con elements), but I still recommend it.


	11. The Festival of Diana on the Aventine - Part Two

* * *

**The Festival of Diana on the Averntine**

* * *

On the cobbled and puddle-filled Via Nova not too far from the temple, Hermione and Scorpius stood cheering on the street’s dry sidewalk as the procession passed before them. The racing chariots and their costumed horses were heading towards the Circus Maximus.

After much fanfare, the flag waving crowd began to follow the end of the procession into the stadium.

“Hermione.” Scorpius tugged on her arm in the opposite direction and pointed. “Let’s go that way.”

“We are _not_ going to the Colosseum, Scorpius.”[29]

“But—”

“No, absolutely not. You are much too young to watch the gladiator fights.”

“I’ll be _six_ this year!”

“My point exactly.” Hermione tried not to waver when she looked at his sweet disappointed face, but her heart broke when his big gray eyes watered. “Why don’t we go visit Diana’s temple before the races?” she suggested,  not unkindly. “You said earlier you like going to the temples. Today there will be sweetmeats there to celebrate the festival’s competitions.”

“Okay, I guess.” Scorpius looked mournfully in the direction of the Colosseum as Hermione pulled him along. “I still want to see a dimachaerus.”[30]

“Why the interest in that type of gladiator?”

“They use two swords, but they’re not really swords because they’re _curved_ , Hermione. That’s sneaky.”

“Well, you don’t need any encouragement from the likes of them in that case. Plus, I’m not letting you leave my sight, so we wouldn’t be able to sit down in the areas closer to the arena. You wouldn’t see much from up high.” The Romans did not treat the genders equally. Women and plebs watched from standing room only from the topmost tier. This level also held any slaves lucky enough to have permission from their masters to attend.

“Maybe Father would take me. He sits with the other senators. They are allowed to bring their own chairs, you know.”

“Yes, Scorpius.” Hermione sighed. “I’m sure spectators above realize how those with the best views watch those macabre spectacles comfortably on a cushion.”

“Maybe if you had a cushion, you would enjoy the gladiatorial fights.”

“I highly doubt it.”

To avoid the heavily crowded streets full of festival goers heading in the the opposite direction to the Circus Maximus, they took a side street on the east end of the stadium. Hermione gripped Scorpius’s hand tightly and hastened their pace as they passed the Temple of Bona Dea, for her cult had fallen into disrepute in recent years. Hermione did not think the temple’s female attendants posed a threat.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Eighteen years ago, Caesar’s second wife, Pompeia, had hosted the festival of Bona Dea, which no man was permitted to attend. However, a young nobleman, intent on seducing Pompeia, disguised himself as a female harpist among the participants. Caesar’s personal guard caught him, but the scandal led to Caesar divorcing Pompeia.

Caesar said his “wife ought not even to be under suspicion.” Hermione didn’t think it fair society blamed a woman for a man’s misdeeds, and that they shamed the entire Bona Dea cult as a result. However, she suspected uninformed men impugned what they didn’t understand. Still, she deemed it best they hurry by the temple held in official disfavor.

At the perimeter of the sacred grounds an old woman hobbled quickly to them and reached out to grab Hermione.

“I see you. The Gods see you. You bear their unseen mark!” The disheveled priestess twisted Hermione’s arm, causing the younger woman to cry out in pain.

“Let my Hermione go!” shouted Scorpius.

A crowd gathered, trapping Hermione with their curious attention. No one came to her aid, but something had to be done. Draco had given her explicit instructions to never use witchcraft in public, but the old woman was crazed and had an uncanny strength.

Scorpius frantically pulled at Hermione’s other arm, and the priestess’s shabby cloak burst into flames. The bystanders gasped, and a few screamed. The old woman shrieked like an unearthly creature, arms flailing about and tearing at her back to fling the fabric off.

“Sorcery!” cried one man.

“Call for the cohorts!” called out another.[31]

The previously curious rabble quickly dispersed, fleeing from the scene before the authorities arrived.

Hermione grabbed Scorpius and ran away. He clung to her tightly, squeezing her chest so much she had difficulty breathing. Hermione paid no attention to the pain and slowed down only after they had reached the Temple of Diana on the Aventine Hill. She collapsed, gasping for air, on the entrance steps.

“Did I do that?” Scorpius whispered into Hermione’s hair. He trembled, his entire body shaking from suppressed sobs. “Did I make that fire? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to use magic, but I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Shh,” soothed Hermione. “Accidental magic, nothing more.”

“Will I get in trouble with Father?”

“No, my love.” Hermione kissed his forehead and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You did nothing wrong. Accidental magic happens, especially to children. When you feel threatened, your magic responds. The older you are, the more you can control it. Your father will understand.”

“It was scary.”

She hugged him and stood up, placing him on the step above her.

“Yes, it can be. Bouts of accidental magic are violent sometimes, but it’s over now. You are safe. We are both safe.”

He squeezed her hand and looked up at her, his somber little face out of place on such a sweet boy.

“My magic—it scared the people around us,” he said solemnly. He looked back the way they had come. “I think I understand why Father wants me to keep quiet about magic.”

“You are a wise boy, Scorpius. Come, let’s go find a place to freshen up.”

“Can we have sweetmeats first?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She ruffled his blond hair. “You must be feeling better now; you’re asking about candy.”

“I do. I hope they have honey covered nuts. I love those.”

“We shall see.”

Public ceremonies were performed outside the temple on the portico, and here they found another, much more docile, crowd gathered. Near the top, a plump priest, his fingers dripping with gold rings, greeted the worshippers. Realizing a ceremony was beginning, Hermione bade Scorpius to be silent and pay attention.

The priest led the people in a community prayer. Behind him, a line of Essenes with garlands on their heads each led a white heifer along the peristyle to the front of the temple.[33] Next to the head priest stood the popa, a large brute of a man. The popa struck each animal on its head with a hammer, and each fell without a fight. The priest used his ceremonial knife to cut the jugular and bless the sacrifice. Following his prayer and the cheers of the congregation, the temple slaves ran forward and butchered the carcasses, placing the meat in the open ovens hidden behind impressive pyres.

Slaughtering, a nasty, bloody business that gave Hermione an ill feeling, seemed not to upset Scorpius. The boy paid it no heed. They waited patiently for the sweetmeats to be passed out while the meat cooked.

All the animals carved and now roasting, the head priest walked up to the front again. He stood there wringing his pudgy hands with pursed lips for several moments, as if unsure of himself. Twice, he looked back to the cella of Diana’s temple and then to a dozen well dressed noblemen at the front of the crowd, each standing next to a woman wearing a brightly colored toga and jewelled anklets. Hermione concluded these women were meretrices, as respectable freeborn ladies wore the stola.

The head priest held his hands up for silence, and the crowd hushed themselves and looked up with awe and anticipation. The only sounds were the distant cheers of the Circus Maximus and the crackling fires of the recent sacrifices.

“I request in my prayers to the all-good and most virtuous Diana and to the rest of the immortal gods, O Romans, that we bestow this festival’s gifts to the maidens worthy of her divine retinue.”

The women Hermione had noticed earlier all giggled with excitement. The priest paused, again looking back to the temple.

“Diana, daughter of Jupiter and Latona, give me your guidance. Let us rejoice in your decision of your chosen. May we be moved by your will. Guide my hands, give me your answer. I am yours to command.”

An awkward silence ensued. The crowd tittered in confusion. Several of the noblemen had furrowed brows, as this was not the usual script of the ceremony. All stared at the priest, puzzled at the change of ritual. Even from a distance, Hermione could see the sweat droplets running down the head priest’s face.Hermione’s heart accelerated and her skin broke out into a cold sweat. The presence of a celestial power, stronger than any magic known to mortals, tingled all around her. She drew her cloak around herself and pulled her wand from its concealed holster.

“Protego,” she muttered forcefully, swishing her hidden wand in a strong downward movement. Scorpius looked up at her in fear, recognizing the protection spell but not the reason his tutor had cast it. An invisible shield bubbled around them as the ground began to shake. A noise like extended thunder bellowed over the city and people screamed. Those in the crowd were unable to run away, as the vibrations caused everyone to fall. The temple groaned, cracks appeared in the columns, and rubble fell from the heavily decorated roof.

The people around them tried to crawl to safety but only became more disoriented, grabbing their heads in an attempt to regain their equilibrium. Only Hermione and Scorpius stood unaffected throughout the tremors, and they did not go unnoticed.

The earthquake ended after a short eternity. Dust slowly settled over the crowd, covering everyone in gloomy powder, but none of it landed on Hermione and Scorpius. Their clean robes contrasted brilliantly against the disheveled mob now pulling themselves up slowly.

The head priest stood, excitement in his bulbous eyes.

“You there,” he cried. “Girl, come here.”

The crowd parted, clearing an open path to the front of the ceremony. Hermione considered Apparating them away, but dismissed the idea. With Scorpius’s fine clothing and unusual pale blond hair, it was possible—no, probable—that the child had been recognised. Nor could they run away this time with deniable plausibility.

“Diana, virgin goddess of the hunt and the moon, has chosen a sacred maiden amongst us to be crowned. She has used her divine influence to guide us to this girl especially. Bring her forward.”

The people began to converge, coming closer. The crowd herded them forward. Hermione picked up Scorpius and carried him up the steps.

“I am called Secundus. I am the head of Diana’s cult and chief of the Essenes. Who might you be, my dear?”

“I am Hermione of Gkrantes. This boy is my charge and the son of my master, Senator Draconis Aurelius Malafides. No harm can come to him.”

“A slave?” He hesitated, noting the expensive silk fabric she wore. “You’re dressed rather finely for a mere bond servant.”

“My father is kind to Hermione,” said Scorpius proudly. “She takes good care of me, even though I’m incorrigible... That means I want to be treated like a boy.” The crowd laughed at his innocent explanation.

“It seems obvious that our beloved goddess has bestowed her favor upon your mistress, dear lad. She spared the two of you from the tremors.”

“We were... blessed,” said Hermione.

He pulled her forward to face the crowd. “O Romans,” he declared, “you can have no argument that this slave girl has been chosen by Diana herself. Those in this numerous assembly have seen her distinguished from all others. For the first time in our festival’s history, the goddess has made her choice apparent to the people with a public manifestation of her will.”

The people cheered, and the priest smiled at the crowd that hung on his every word. Hermione kept her wary guard up. She knew that the gods had indeed intervened in the festival, but her steady feet had been the result of witchcraft.

“This girl—Hermione of Gkrantes—she alone shall receive this festival’s reward.” Again, the crowd cheered. “With the exceedingly singular approbation of Diana, it is also apparent that she is to be gifted with more than just her freedom. This girl shall become a full citizen of Rome!”

The people erupted in applause. Scorpius buried his head in Hermione’s hip as his tutor stared mutely at the celebration before her.

One of the noblemen came forward, incensed and with clenched fists.

“What means this declaration? This was not the intended aim of this festival. You have gone against _my_ wishes, foolish priest.” He stood tall, and a simpering woman stepped beside him. She smirked at Hermione.

“I follow the wishes of the gods and my goddess, Marcus Junius Brutus,” said Secundus warily. “You cannot deny their divine emphasis on this woman. It is my sacred duty to adhere to their will.”

“It is not the place of a high priest to grant citizenship! You defy Roman law, as no slave can become a citizen. Even more, this slave is property that does not belong to your temple. Not even Caesar can do this!”

“You dare deny the will of the gods?” shouted a bystander. Many more in the congregation became agitated, and the priest gained confidence from the discontent of the mob. Brutus backed away, defeated yet not without anger.

“I do fear the people choose this girl to not only be free, but a citizen,” the pudgy priest said snidely. Brutus tried to protest, but Secundus turned his back to the patrician and his paramour.

The priest grabbed Hermione’s hand and held it up.

“Dear people, meet Hermione Primis Generosus, the first Roman citizen to be chosen by the gods.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [29] The Colosseum, or Flavian Amphitheater, was built in 80 A.D., 124 years before this story takes place. The first Roman amphitheaters were built during the 1st century B.C., but I used the Colosseum for recognition and ease of reading. The area was actually a densely inhabited urban neighborhood made up of insula (apartment buildings) during Rome’s Republican Era.
> 
> [30] A **dimachaerus** was a rare type of gladiator who typically fought with two curved scimitars (siccae), though there has been some evidence of them also using straight bladed short swords (gladius). Curved blades were not a Roman style and often associated with more underhanded styles of fighting.
> 
> [31] Another anachronism, the **cohortes urbanae** were created by Emperor Augustus in 27 B.C. (17 years after this story takes place) to police Rome. Before that, privately owned slaves or the army kept the peace.
> 
> [32] Ancient recipes have been preserved which indicate that the Romans used boiled nuts and honey, sprinkled with ground sesame, as a candy treat. This would have been the precursor to modern nougat.
> 
> [33] Only female animals were sacrificed to goddesses, while male animals were sacrificed to the gods. It was not uncommon to offer dozens of animals at a festival, as they were a donation of meat meant to feed the people.


	12. When the Gods Close One Door

* * *

**tablinum, the Malafides domus, Palatine Hill, Rome**

* * *

“You’re in useless lust with a Muggelia slave! Circe’s tits. If your once impeccable taste now runs towards a woman of a mundanus nature, then I should think you wise enough to spend your energy entering into a betrothal with one of the powerful families here in Rome. Their daughters may lack magic, but at least you could forge a political and dynastic alliance.”

“Hermione is not a Muggelia.” Draco’s words parroted the conversation he once had with the slave during her first day at the villa. “I tasted her magic—she is powerful. This is more than lust, and I plan to make her my concubine. She will give birth to powerful sons.”

“Nonsense,” Severus insisted. “She is the property of the Hogyrotoli School and prized pupil of Minerva Megalonisi. I for one would not anger such a powerful sorceress by using her beloved protégée as a broodmare for illegitimate offspring.”

The sound of a door crashing open reached the two wizards, and together they turned to face the hall leading to the front of the villa. They drew their wands at the sound of thunderous steps running towards them.

“Father! Father!” cried Scorpius, hurling himself to them with wide eyes.

“Scorpius?” Draco looked for Hermione but did not see her. “What is wrong? What has happened?”

“And where is your tutor?” asked Severus. “Shouldn’t she be teaching you the proper etiquette of entering a room?”

The little boy was far too excited to heed the old sorcerer’s words. “Father, the most amazing thing—you won’t believe it, but it is true, I swear. The gods have blessed Hermione!”

Hermione appeared at the archway leading into the atrium. She was calm but had an air of confusion hovering over her like a humid afternoon haze. Her eyes met Draco’s and neither spoke.

“Well, someone had better start explaining what’s going on,” said Severus.

“Hermione is Roman now!” cried Scorpius. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Severus raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Draco remained expressionless.

“I’m free,” she whispered.

“What was that?” asked Severus.

“I’m no longer a slave,” said Hermione with more conviction. “I’m even—the priest—I’m a citizen of Rome. I was chosen at the festival.”

“Explain,” said Draco. He began walking towards Hermione.

“Impossible,” scoffed Severus. “The festival grants freedom, but not citizenship.”

“That’s what everyone else thought, too,” persisted Scorpius. “But Hermione is special. I already knew that, but now everyone does. The gods chose her to be blessed, and now she is a citizen. Just like us, Father.”

Draco reached Hermione and stood directly in front of her. “Is this true?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured. “It is.”

Nodding, Draco reached out and ran a hand along her bare shoulder. “I see.” He nodded again.

He tilted her chin up to look at him and brushed his thumb along her jawline. She shivered, blinked, shook her head, and then tried to take a half step backwards. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at her attempt to put space between them.

Draco closed the distance from her, his hand wrapping behind her neck. Her mouth made a little ‘o’ before his lips crashed into hers. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer and pressing her up against him.

When he ended the kiss, he smirked at her dazed expression. Draco turned to Severus. “We will marry immediately.”

“What?!” Hermione sputtered.

“Yeah!” cheered Scorpius.

“Draco,” Severus reasoned, “do try and be sensible this about this. Think on what we were only just discussing.”

“Leave us!” commanded Draco. He gave his guards a wordless order to leave the atrium as well. All present shuffled out, a protesting Scorpius dragged out by a somber-faced Severus.

* * *

**the Brutus domus, Caelian Hill, Rome**

* * *

Brutus’s home was a respectable villa that once belonged to his uncle, Cato the Younger. The long and echoing halls were splendid and airy, yet the rooms were silent. The slaves, adept at sensing the mood of their master as his furious footsteps slapped the mosaic tiles, hid themselves in the corners of the house.

A woman followed behind him, hurrying to catch up with his longer strides. Her hair, dyed a brassy russet shade from a mixture of animal fat and beechwood ashes, fell out of its decorative bone pins as she practically jogged to reach Brutus’s side.

“Brutus, my lord,” she called.

“Go to bed, Cinaeda.[34]  I’m not feeling well and have much to think over.”

Cinaeda grabbed Brutus’s arm. “I tire of being excluded from your world. When you keep things from me, you treat me as a whore and not your concubine.”[35]

“My dear, you are as valuable to me as the blood that runs through my heart.”

“Why not then share the heavy secrets of your heart? Who are these men who hid their faces as they entered our home?” She pointed behind them to a group of men from the festival hovering just outside of the atrium. “Do they have anything to do with that slave who ruined my chance at becoming your official concubine? I have earned my freedom, Brutus. You _promised_ me. I insist you treat me as your equal and share your confidences.”

“They wait to meet with me, so that we can discuss the business of men.”

She stomped a foot, her jeweled anklets jingling. “Fine. I’m not going to stab myself in the thigh to show you that I can bear pain and therefore your secrets.” With clenched fists, Cinaeda stormed off to her bedchambers.

Brutus kneaded the bridge of his nose wearily, silently cursing the gods for their interference into his life. He regretted paying the priest’s bribe before the festival’s ceremony. There was little chance of recovering his gold. He could have used that money to buy the jewels now necessary to get back into Cinaeda’s good graces.

One of the hooded men on the other side of the atrium stepped away from the others to join Brutus. Once Brutus looked up at him, the man smiled and removed his hood. He gave Brutus a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Fear not, she will come to see reason. You have no power over supernatural forces, just like all other men.”

“All other men except for those without magic. You forget them, Cassius.”

Cassius shrugged. “Only mages have magic, and they hardly associate themselves with ordinary men.”

“Caesar associates with them. He has their unnatural power in his pockets. He used their sorcery to enslave Rome.”

“You speak against Caesar. Against his authority,” said Cassius.

“Authority is not the same as dictatorship, and I do. Are you not here because we share similar thoughts?”

The older senator gave Brutus a measuring look. “Such opinions are dangerous.”

“The tyranny of Caesar is dangerous. His dependence on magical interference in the natural order of things is dangerous. Our tolerance for magic and oppression shows us to be weak.” Brutus stood. He wasn’t a tall man, but his stance was regal. “I am a direct descendant of Lucius Junius Brutus, who drove the Etruscan kings from Rome. It was the Ancient Brutus’s first act that the Roman people swear an oath to never again allow another man to be ‘king’ of Rome.”

“Funny thing, your ancestors. I have heard rumor that your mother, Servilia Caeponis, was Julius Caesar’s long time mistress. Many suspect you might be his son.”

“The great thing about such rumors is that I learn so much more about myself I didn’t know,” said Brutus dismissively, yet his eyes held the fire of restrained fury.

“Verily. Yet, you fought on the side of Pompey. After his defeat at Pharsalus, Caesar issued an order that you were not to be harmed. He forgave you, allowing you to return to your position of power in the government. One might even call such clemency… paternal.”

“Rest assured that I have no storge for Caesar.”

Cassius nodded and gestured for the other men to join them. “What do you have in mind for Caesar?”

Brutus smiled. He had a lean and hungry look, but all knew the man could swim the Tiber in full armor. His was the expression of an African cat after being set loose in the arena.

* * *

**the Malafides domus**

* * *

Hermione held her hands out in front of Draco. “We aren’t getting married.”

“You have objections?” asked Draco incredulously.

“Yes, of course!”

“What might those be?”

Hermione didn’t have an answer for that yet. Too much had happened recently; she really needed to wrap her head around the events at the festival.

Draco didn’t want to give her the chance to come up with an answer. “You know, I was thinking, and I was wondering two things,” he said. “Why did the gods grant you not only freedom but Roman citizenship? And why did you come back once you were free?”

“Well, I don’t know about the first, but as for the second… I have an obligation to fulfill, and I came back to fulfill it.”

“Is that all?” he asked, once again tilting her chin up to look at him.

“I would have missed Scorpius if I left.”

“Only Scorpius?”

“No—yes. Isn’t it right that I would have missed Scorpius?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I was only hoping that perhaps you… Perhaps you might…”

“Yes?” Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

“Everything would be wrong if you were to leave. Over these past few months, I have worried about how one day you would leave after Scorpius finished his studies.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I would have done anything for you to stay. Just before you arrived, Snappa and I were arguing over how I wanted to make you my concubine and—”

“—Concubine! I think not!” Hermione tried to pull away, but Draco held her tight.

“You’re right. No matter how much I wanted to be with you, I should have never considered that.”

“Oh…” Hermione stopped struggling. “You agree?”

“Yes. You can’t turn such a powerful mage as yourself into a concubine when you love them, can you?”

“You love me?”

“Of course. Do you know when I first started loving you?” She shook her head. “That first day at the villa, after Severus told me about the ridiculous snake Scorpius put in your pocket. You may have been a slave, but you had a strength none of the other tutors demonstrated.”

He pulled her into another kiss, but this time she responded to it. Again, Draco felt the spark of her magic come into contact with his when their lips touched. He ran his hands up and down her sides. She snaked her arms around his neck and held him close.

“Madam Minerva says when the gods close one door, somewhere they open a window.”

“What else does Madam Minerva say?”

“That you have to look for your life.”

“And have you found it?” Draco searched her eyes for any clue of her feelings. “Hermione?”

“I think I have. I know I have… I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [34] **_Cinaede_** is the Latin word for pansy. The same word is also from Ancient Greek, originally referring to a non-Roman dancer whose performance featured movements of the buttocks.
> 
> [35] Porcia Catonis was Brutus’s devoted wife, who I replaced with an OC (Cinaeda the concubine). They were supposedly deeply in love, and some historians believe she knew about the plot on Caesar's life. In Shakespeare’s play **_Julius Caesar_** , Portia says, _“Make me acquainted with your cause of grief..._ [Otherwise,] _Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.”_ She then stabs herself in the thigh to prove that she is better than the average woman.


	13. They Open a Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go... time for the wedding... and the wedding night! If you aren’t interested (and that’s fine), then stop reading at the section clearly marked LEMONS. You won’t miss out on any of the plot by doing so.
> 
> In other news... Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve actually had this update ready for two weeks, but I’ve been waiting for H&V to come back online... because (sorry) I’ve always posted my fic updates there first. FYI, their website is still down. Crossing my fingers.

For months, Draco had known he was under the spell of his son’s beautiful tutor, bewitched by her intelligence and beauty. He was elated to hear Hermione say that she loved him in return.

“Say it again,” he whispered, holding her close.

“I love you.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed her tight, burying his face in her hair. “Then marry me and become a mother to my son.”[36] Hermione returned his embrace and stared up at him, her heart thudding loudly with happiness.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Draco got up so quickly that he startled Hermione. He paid her no heed at crossed his room in long strides, stopping at the doorway to fling open the door. It crashed against the wall with a reverberating thwack.

“SOMEONE RUN TO THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER OPTIMUS MAXIMUS AND GET ME A PRIEST!” he bellowed. Giving no thought to deciding upon a lucky day for the wedding, one carefully chosen to avoid any ill omens, Draco wanted to marry Hermione immediately.

The next few hours were a blur of activity. The kitchen slaves hastily prepared a massive feast. Scorpius and the younger household slaves anointed the doors and windowsills with oil and fat, emblems of plenty. Ten witnesses of sufficient rank, representing the ten original clans of the curia, were solicited from nearby homes to attend the ceremony and make the marriage legal. They were skipping the wedding procession, which many found mildly shocking. Had they known that no marriage contract had been negotiated, they would have been appalled.

Hermione gathered flowers and sacred plants—mainly sesame to symbolize fertility—from the hortus at the back of the villa while a runner was sent to procure a tunica recta for Hermione to wear. As Helena of Gkrantes was not available to attend to her daughter, one of the older female slaves stood in her mother’s stead to dress the bride in the white woven tunic. However, the proxy’s primary job was to fasten a band of wool around Hermione’s waist to tie in the “Knot of Hercules.”

“Remember,” said the woman with a knowing smile that crinkled her eyes as she fiddled with the loops, “only your husband has the privilege to untie this.” As expected, the older woman saw a blush appear on Hermione’s cheeks. She placed a flame-colored veil over Hermione’s tunic and matching orange shoes on her feet. While the others had fussed with her clothing, Hermione had used the plants she gathered earlier from the garden to make two wreaths, one of which she placed on top of the veil.

Hermione sent a slave to take her other wreath to Draco for him to wear.

Once the preparations were all in place, everyone gathered together in the atrium. The room buzzed with excited chatter, as many had just now heard of Hermione’s sudden ascension to Roman citizenship. They began singing wedding songs as a hired slave began playing a large cithara, filling the air with rich, full tones. The musician performed so well that there were tears on several faces.

Standing between the household shine and the impluvium—a small pool that would catch rainwater—a hooded priest looked around. The poor man was still bewildered at suddenly finding himself in the home of a Roman senator, after being dragged bodily from his temple during prayers. The conversations and singing dwindled, and then applause spread as the couple walked in from opposite sides of the house. They smiled at each other and stood before the priest.

An acolyte handed the priest a platter of goats’ livers and an amphora of wine. As he reverently took the gifts to the villa’s altar, he led a prayer to Jupiter Optimus Maximus. The priest placed the entrails onto a little sacrificial plate and poured the wine over it. The acolyte cleaned the blood from the priest’s hands and then silently bowed away. Hermione looked up at Draco; it was time for them to be married.

“Your declaration now, my dear,” prompted the priest.

“I am now of your family,” Hermione said to Draco. “Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”[37]

“With your right hand, take her right hand,” said the priest. After Draco had done so, he wrapped a band around them to symbolize their unity. “Are you prepared to give your consent to the marriage?” he asked Hermione.

“I have done and I will do so.”

The priest uncovered his head as a sign that his religious duties at the ceremony were at an end. With their wrists still tied together, Hermione lit a fire with a special torch using her free hand and handed it over to Draco. He blew it out and tossed among the guests, who scrambled for it, since whoever caught it was supposed to enjoy a long life.

The more important guests proceeded to the peristylium, since the household slaves had decorated the colonnaded garden for the feast. The couple sat side by side in two chairs over which a single sheepskin was stretched. As they fell further into their cups, the guests shouted "felicter!" and sang obscene songs. Hermione’s eyes grew wider and wider, until she insisted that Scorpius be sent to bed.

Draco perked up at the mention of bed. After the final course of the feast had been served and the sun had set, he gathered Hermione up in his arms and carried her to his personal suite of rooms. He set her down and closed the doors.[38]

“Well now.” He smirked at her as she walked towards the opposite wall with the bed. “What are you thinking, Lady Hermione Malafides?”

“About what?” She wasn’t paying any attention to the bed. Instead, she had looked around curiously, having never been to Draco’s rooms, when something caught her eye. Hermione could barely contain her excitement upon seeing several buckets of scrolls and shelves of codices.[39]

He laughed. “Anything. Everything. Our marriage. The ceremony. Your thoughts and opinions have always been respected.”

“Our wedding has been unlike any other,” Hermione said, somewhat sadly. She stepped away from his personal reading collection to look back at him.[40]

“Sad that there was no procession through the streets from your house to mine? Did you truly want the traditional embarrassment as those we call friends sing debauched songs directed at you, while strangers and onlookers wave flags and cheer at the lyrics? Pity. If you want, I can still have our attendees throw nuts to people as they walk to their homes.”

“I was thinking more about my lack of dowry.”

Draco unsuccessfully covered up a snort with a cough. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I care little for a formal betrothal ceremony and a written agreement with some woman-child’s father,” he said. “As a mage, you bring me more power than the daughter of any Roman family ever could. That is worth more than any amount of gold or any estates you own.” He kissed her softly on the forehead. “More importantly, as Scorpius’s new mother, what you bring to me is priceless.”

Tears falling, Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck and kissed him. Again, their magics touched, reaching out with entwining unseen tendrils around the other. A tingling shock rippled from their lips, vibrating over their skin. As the kiss grew more passionate with their tongues battling for dominance, the air around them sizzled. Hermione felt warm and safe; she was at the center of a dangerous fire under their control.

Draco’s unnaturally silver-gray eyes visibly changed as the magic of his aura swirled, darkening them to an inky shade of black. He was almost drowning in her power. He pulled an arm away from him, slowly rubbing her wrist with the rough pad of his thumb, almost as if taking her pulse. She stilled her movements, not knowing if she should kiss him again. They each breathed heavily.

* * *

#### ~ LEMONS ~

* * *

“Say you are happy to have me as a husband,” Draco whispered heedlessly, sounding desperate. Perhaps even begging. He was.

“I am happy," Hermione responded without hesitation. She meant it. It wasn’t just her magic reaching out to his. Her whole body was throbbing, growing in intensity from a fluttering warmth behind her navel. "Gods, Draco, I want you."

The senator growled.

It was a primal sound vibrating from his chest, held low in the deep of his throat. Animalistic. Predatory. Totally unlike what should come from a civilized citizen of Rome. Before she could shudder in fear, he ripped off her tunic in one swift movement and brought his mouth to the base of her neck, the motion fast enough to blur. After a surprised gasp, she released a feminine moan. He picked her up by her thighs and carried her over to his bed.

He broke off contact to lean forward and remove the outer garments of his toga. Standing in front of him, Hermione reached her other hand out towards him, leaving it on his muscular chest and brushing her thumb over one of his many scars.

“Sectumsempra curse, a souvenir from the Battle of Carrhae,” he said absently. His hands then moved along her arms and slid over her lower back. “I was very young and another wizard caught me unaware.”

He paused at the bottom of her tunica, his hand bunching the fabric while his knuckles grazed her exposed skin.

“Take this off.”

She complied, throwing the tunica over near where her tunic had landed earlier. He sat on the couch and pulled her on top of him. Draco stared appreciatively at the bronze clepsammia hanging between her breasts.[41] Hermione held her breath.

"That too.”

The moment after she had unclasped the chain and had removed it from around her neck, Draco snaked his arm around her waist and abruptly flipped them over so he was on top. He shifted one leg between hers, where her heat was pooling. The pressure of his thigh against her nearly made her mind explode. He captured her mouth with his again, pulling his arm out from beneath her and toying with her breast. She moaned again.

He squeezed the mound and then lightly flicked the nipple. She gasped beneath his mouth, and she could feel him smiling. Hermione ran her nails down his back.

 _By the Gods, she was perfect._ He moaned appreciatively and trailed kisses from her neck to her chest. He continued to do even more delicious things with his tongue and teeth. After she felt it could get no more mind-blowing, he then pressed a hungry kiss between her legs, his breath warm and wet near her swollen bud. His tongue peeked out for a taste. She gripped his hair tightly, her hands fisting over his head. He ran a finger along her folds, and then gently prodded at her entrance. She moaned when he went deeper, causing a satisfied grin to appear on his already smirking face.

A long elegant finger slid inside easily, and he began pistoning it gently in and out, speeding up and carefully adding a second when he could tell she wanted more. The stretching sensation created a fullness within that Hermione found addicting. Her body felt like it was warming up slowly, and a bright fire was spreading through her.

“Let go, Hermione,” he murmured, torturing her skillfully with his tongue and fingers. Within a minute, she did just as he commanded. Her eyes rolled back and her vision blurred into a universe of hot white dots.

He hungrily lapped at her juices. Her mind ceased functioning with absolute ecstasy. She hazily murmured his name and slowly collapsed in a spent heap.

Draco smiled down at the former slave girl, now his wife, dazed and limp on the bed beneath him. Noticing the intensity of his gaze, she reached for a sheet to cover herself, but he stilled her hand. Her bushy hair had escaped the confines of its plait and surrounded her like a halo.

“Come here,” she whispered after her heart finally stopped racing and she caught her breath. Hermione reached out and ran her fingers through his silky blonde hair, pulling him down towards her. He caged her in beneath him, bracing himself up over her, the muscles on his arms noticeably flexing, but he held himself in place like it was no effort whatsoever.

“You’re ready?” he asked. Hermione bit her lip but nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Draco knew she was nervous, so this was consent enough. “Everything is going to be wonderful," he promised, lining himself up at her entrance.

Hermione gasped at the sharp pain, as it was unlike anything she’d experienced. It wasn’t that she felt more physical discomfort than expected; however, this pain was more intimate than anticipated. She looked down to see the hair of Draco’s groin moving towards her own, and her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Her muscles clenched instinctively, and the sound that escaped her was a cross between a cry and a moan. Once fully buried inside her, Draco stopped and brought a hand up to caress her cheek.

“It’ll be all right,” he said.

His voice soothed her, and she relaxed a little. Feeling a burst of courage, she surged up and kissed him. Draco resumed moving. The pain didn’t disappear, but the friction was consuming and only intensified as he moved faster.

Draco’s pale skin was flushed from cheeks to chest, his pale hair plastered darkly to his forehead with sweat. Hermione almost cried over how good it felt with him inside her wet heat, pushing forward repeatedly, and— _oh._

He had moved his hand back to where they were joined. Hermione couldn’t help it, she screamed. The soreness was a vague memory now, blocked out by waves of pleasure from her husband’s thrusts. Her sheath clenched around him.

“Oh, fuck!” he cursed. Suddenly, his speed accelerated with savage force. Hermione held on tightly to his shoulders as a shudder wracked his whole body. Draco grunted ferally, as if in pain, and ground his pelvis hard against hers, pushing as deeply as he could.

“By the dog…” Draco struggled to talk and take in the deep breaths he so clearly needed. “No, by the Gods. Someone from Olympus must have sent you here, you—”

Hermione kissed him once again, and she could feel him smiling against her lips. Then, Draco withdrew slowly. Hermione pulled away and hissed against his cheek.

"Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded, and he sighed in relief, flopping down gracelessly beside her.

They lay side by side, sweaty and catching their breath.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered. Hermione struggled to stand on wobbly legs and made her way to duck behind a privacy screen. She returned a moment later with a piece of cloth and made as if to clean her husband, but he took it from her to wipe away their fluids himself. He tossed it over the side of the bed, and Hermione smirked… knowing he cared nothing of the household slaves who cleaned up after him. She would have to teach him to show respect, even for those he viewed beneath him, as she had done for Scorpius.

“Love you so much,” he whispered, pulling her close against his chest and kissing her forehead.

A lesson for another day, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [36] When researching the _Sound of Music_ , I found that (in his real life marriage proposal) Georg von Trapp asked Maria to be a second mother to his children. She later wrote, “God must have made him word it that way because if he had only asked me to marry him I might not have said yes."
> 
> [37] Translation: _When—and where—you are Gaius, I then—and there—am Gaia._ In Roman times, the bride had to give consent to the marriage to make the union official. This bridal chant was an ancestor to our modern exchange of vows.
> 
> [38] Romans took a very stern attitude towards sex. A person who had sex in the daytime was considered immoral, since sex was only supposed to be done at night and secretly.
> 
> [39] Book production developed in Rome in the 1st century BC. Libraries were private or created at the behest of an individual. Julius Caesar, for example, wanted to establish one in Rome, proving that libraries were signs of political prestige. By the year 377, there was a grand total of 28 libraries in Rome.
> 
> [40] My description of the marriage rituals is riddled with historical inaccuracies. The ceremony would have occurred at the bride’s house, there would have been a march through the streets to the home of her new husband, etc. I had to take bits and pieces and rework them as best I could to fit the circumstances of this fic.
> 
> [41] The origin of the hourglass is unclear, although unlike its predecessor the _clepsydra,_ or water clock, which was invented in ancient Egypt. The _clepsammia,_ or sand-glass, may have been invented at Alexandria around 150 BC.


End file.
